


The Bird and the Bee

by colorthefall



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Adventure, But there is also lots of, Comedy, Death, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, It is super spooky kiddos, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorthefall/pseuds/colorthefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara wakes up in the woods. Beatrice finds her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Witch Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara meets a Not-Witch.

 

Sara woke up laying in a patch of dampened soil with bits of foliage covered in dew about her body. The blades of grass tickled her legs, which were bare below her knees due the short overalls she adorned.

With a groan, Sara sat up and examined her surroundings. The moon in the sky was slowly falling, leaving the air around her chill to the touch. As she brought herself to her feet, her weight instantly crunched the brown and yellow leaves that littered the forest floor. She kicked her shoes to scatter them and smiled sleepily.

The woods.

She always found them to be a calming place; a place to think. A place to run away to when she was sad or scared, or maybe if she was feeling fine and wanted to  _be_  scared, like on Halloween. She hadn’t any idea of how she’d gotten to the woods, but that didn’t matter because she was happy in that moment. The dangers of night were no more than benign spirits in her eyes as she started forth on the path before her, intent on clearing her mind of her worries with a silent saunter through the trees.

Her dark skin prickled with goose bumps as each breeze passed, and every so often, leaves caressed her limbs or kissed her cheeks as they blew by, hand in hand with the gentle wind. She shivered and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket to keep warm, even if she knew her efforts would be futile thanks to her shorts.

“ **Find it! That horrid being lies and waits in these woods, casting spells to disturb us!** ”

Sara paused, halting the easy stroll she had settled into.

Brown eyes scanned the area once more. Though she had walked at least ten feet or so, she looked to be in the exact same place that she’d been napping in just a few moments earlier, only this time, the sunlight no longer hugged the branches of the trees or the bushes in front of them, and instead, shadows fell over them like sheets over a corpse.

“What a vicious creature! Desperate to destroy the halcyon nature of our dwelling! It no doubt is the cause of the scratching I heareth outside my chamber windows come nightfall.”

It didn’t take much contemplating before she decided to look where the chatter was coming from. Removing her hands from her coat pockets, she rested them on the tree trunk in front of her and peered over it to see what was on the other side. She expected to see revolutionary war reenactors donning red and blue garb and flare guns. But she was greeted only by more dead bushes and trees, and darkness that was surely thickening around them with each passing second.

“I bethought we hadst seen the last of thy kind in Salem!”

 _So much for quiet time._  Sara thought somewhat sourly, but quickly took it back and replaced it by apologies that would never leave her lips; It wasn’t like these were  _her_  woods, after all, and these people had just as much of a right to use them as she did. But still, how could she think about anything when they were screaming? She couldn’t even remember the words to her favorite song or poem to sing along to on her walk with all of their hollering.

She peered her head around a corner, resting her chilly fingers onto the rough bark of a tree. There, she could easily make out what was an angry mob with pitchforks, axes, and fire-lit logs in their hands. The unit stayed put while a few brave souls searched through the bushes and trees around them. They didn’t look like any revolutionary war reenactors she had ever seen before; the women were dressed in thick black cloaks that covered their chicken wire skirts, petticoats, and stockings, and the men looked like the thanksgiving pilgrims that she remembered coloring in grade school.

“Come out, issue! We hath slayed thy Aunt, and we shall slay thee as well!”

The initial confusion Sara had immediately was replaced by panic when she could make out that the leader of the mob was carrying a severed head in his hand, using its strings of tattered white hair to hold it up right.

The scent of metal was strong in the air. Sara covered her mouth to try and filter the iron through her fingers so the taste of it wouldn't be so thick in her throat.

Draping an arm over her stomach, her gaze wandered toward the forest floor once again, beholding the pool of blood beneath where the angry villagers stood.  She dared not look up to see the lifeless eyes of the head they held so proudly.

“It’s realistic…” she murmured to herself to soothe her own nerves.

It  _couldn’t_  be real blood. It was way too horror movie-esque for her to wake up in the woods with no recollection of how she got there, only to have to spend the entire night being chased by blood-thirsty madmen.

“Oh my,” she suddenly heard someone whisper into her ear, as though they had been hovering over her shoulder the entire time she spectated the crowd.

Sara’s spine locked in place and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up starkly. She cupped both of her hands over her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

“This is no place for you, darling!” the voice whispered in a roar, grabbing hold of her shoulders with two dainty, milky white hands that seemed to glow under the moonlight. “You aren’t even in a gown…”

Sara turned to face the girl with the sugary voice that had nearly scared her to death. Her arms and legs trembled with the adrenaline that surged through them, readying guard to defend herself in case whoever was talking to her had ill-intent. She silently thanked her mother for encouraging her wrestling all of these years, and was at least a little comforted by the fact that she could knock a person out cold with one flick of her wrist if she so pleased.

But instead of being matched with a threat to her life, Sara met the gentle gaze of a girl her same height, whose silky, dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun beneath her ivory bonnet. Her face looked sprightly under the lantern light upon first glance, but if one cared to scrutinize the finer details of her features, they would see that worry lay beneath her youthful skin that aged her ten times over.

“I’ve seen travelers such as thee before...” the girl whispered, raising her lantern up to rest between them. The shadows fell into the crevices of her visage, and in an instant, she was a child no more. The darkness swallowed the little girl she once was and spit back out a grizzly old thing, worn and beaten by the sands of time. “We must get you a gown, lest they think you a witch.”

With that, the gracious girl gingerly reached for Sara’s hand, pulling it away from her face to rest at her side. She grasped it tightly and tugged on her until they broke out into a run through the trees.

It occurred then to Sara that it was _definitely_ real blood squirting from the head. She tried not to give it anymore thought as she ran, because if she had to stop to puke in the bushes, those murders were surely have her head, too.  

“ **SHE WALKS**!” the leader of the clan screamed, raising his torch to light the way by which Sara and the “Witch” fled.

The crowd roared, preparing to chase after the two children with their weapons.

But the girls were swallowed whole by the branches and leaves of trees and could no longer be spotted, nor could they be followed.

“Run if thee must! But at which hour the sun rises, you’ll be at the gallows!” a woman in the bunch cried out passionately, raising her pitch fork as her brethren yelled in cheer along after her.

At that point, Sara was so terrified that she had lost her voice and all feeling in her body. The only thing that kept her standing was the girl who tugged her along through the branches that were intent on scraping up every square inch of her skin until her legs were soaked with blood. A particularly nasty gash was acquired as they turned a sharp corner and Sara's shin was smashed directly into a log covered with sharp pine cones. 

Her guide suddenly released her grip from her hand and stood still, causing Sara to bump into her back and subsequently tumble to the cold floor, crackling leaves in the process. Her skin was coated in hot dribbles of blood and scrapes that had not managed to draw it, as well as a bruise or two from having been bumped into tree trunks. She sincerely regretted the way she was dressed, and strangely enough was looking forward to having this stranger make her a gown that would shield her from the elements.

“Up we go.” she whispered in her ear.

She hadn’t noticed that the other was kneeling down beside her and jumped with fright, unable to repress a soft yelp as she was taken into her arms.

“I’m terribly sorry for the sudden shock.” she added, holding Sara against her chest and carrying her toward an eerie looking cottage that was presumably her home.

“Wh-who are you? Who are they?” Sara managed to take her tongue back from the proverbial cat and spluttered out a barrage of questions. She wanted to keep her guard up, but found herself without the strength as the adrenaline dissipated and left her in exhaustion, to be carried by this ghostly girl, away from the murderous cult.

“I am Lorna. And you, little bee?” Lorna sang softly, opening the door to her home.

“Bee?” Sara murmured inquisitively. She would have said more, but the sudden flush of warm air that embraced them upon entering the cottage was enough to stop her.

She took a moment to revel in the feeling, taking a deep breath and catching the scent of tea and cream coming from somewhere nearby. The place was lit by a warm yellow glow that reminded Sara that she was still sleepy, considering one could only sleep so well on chilly, hardened mud.

“Bee…” she whispered again as Lorna carried her up the stairs, the hackneyed wood crying out in pain all the while. And finally, Lorna sat Sara down on a bed cloaked with warm blankets, propping her legs up on a stool nearby and frowning in worry at them upon inspection. “Oh! My shirt.” Sara looked down at the white sweater she wore beneath her overalls that had a cute drawing of a fat bee on it. She laughed despite her situation and ran her fingers through her hair. “My name is Sara.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” Lorna complimented her, giving her a sympathetic smile as she held up a roll of bright, clean bandages and pulled out a sheet of it to go over Sara’s wounds.

The two of them stayed silent for a long while.

Sara was afraid to ask Lorna more questions.

It wasn’t as though Lorna would have been shy to them; she was quite aware that Sara couldn’t have been from around here and seemed to have no idea how she got here, either, so it was only right of her to want to know what was going on. But still, Lorna bit her tongue to keep back her words and her tears all at once. Sadness plagued her being whenever she was in this room- the room where her beloved Aunt used to sleep. She hadn’t been in there for ages, for want of avoiding the way it dampened her spirits.

Sara was rather keen on detecting sadness in others. She had to be, considering her best friend and boyfriend was Wirt, the king of bad moods, ever since the second grade when his father passed away. She had become an expert on handling those bad moods, too, finding herself making silly faces or doing hand-stands and cartwheels, or singing crazy songs with nonsensical lyrics she’d come up with off the top of her head to take Wirt’s mind out of the hole he had dug it into. That’s one of the things that inspired her to be a mascot at school.

Wirt. 

School.

“It’s a school night, isn’t it? I should probably be getting back home soon.” she whispered to herself, tapping her fingertips against her chin. But for some reason, she could feel in her gut that she wouldn’t be leaving this place for a while.

She was pulled from her reverie by the sound of Lorna getting up to leave, promising to return with hot water and a rag to clean her cuts with. Sara merely nodded and awaited her return, having surprisingly no trouble at relaxing in the bed despite the strange scent that came from it- almost like salt water.

Sara waited for what felt like an hour, drifting in and out of consciousness. She didn’t know if she was just really tired or if the blood loss from the huge gash on her leg was responsible, but she knew if she sat there any longer, she’d be out cold. She mustered up what little strength she had left and carried her aching body out of the room, down the steps into the parlor of the cottage.

“Hm?” Lorna murmured, a needle with thread coming off of it pressed between her thin lips. She turned to see her guest and looked crestfallen. “My apologies, dear Sara! I was so focused on crafting your gown…” she trailed off when she realized that Sara was only half paying attention.

The other half was focused on the tiny, black turtles that were scuttling about at her feet.

“Lorna…” Sara began, losing her balance and falling onto a stair. She sat there and stared at the turtles, holding out her arms for them to crawl on. They were actually quite cute. “Why do you have so many turtles here?” she asked, smiling.

“Perhaps I shall explain them to you anon.” Lorna grinned back, her heart feeling less heavy now that she was away from Auntie Whispers’ old room. “For now, I must ask where you’ve come from, and take your measurements for the gown.”

“Oh, uh. I’m from here.” Sara began, picking up one of the turtles and absently running her fingers across the rough surface of its shell. “Well- not these woods, specifically, but,” she paused when Lorna appeared at her side and lifted her to her feet.

She held out a long grey string and wrapped it around Sara’s waist, hips, and bust, all in what felt like a second. Lorna nodded to herself in satisfaction and went back to her creation, leaving Sara dazed and covered in turtles still.

“Are you from here, too?”

“Aye.”

Sara plucked a squirming turtle from her black locks of hair and set it back inside of the basket where they all seemed to have been coming from. She looked at the dress Lorna was making and couldn’t believe the speed and precision with which she’d gone about it, almost as though she’d made hundreds before.

“So, why do they think you’re a witch?” Sara asked, shuffling her feet about nervously. “You don’t look like one at all, and you definitely don’t act like one. You seem so kind.”

Lorna’s cheeks flushed faintly pink at the compliment and she chuckled warmly, shifting her gaze toward Sara to lock eyes with her.

“It’s because of my Auntie that they think me a witch.” she began, still sewing the dark fabric of the dress without error even while she looked away. “I suppose she did have something magical about her, but she didn’t deserve-“ Lorna bit her lip and looked away from Sara as she felt hot tears begin to stream down her cheeks. “She didn’t deserve to be brought to the block. Her soul was gentle!”

It was then that Sara was able to picture Lorna’s Aunt in her mind, but it was not through the help of her own imagination. She shivered when she remembered the mob about to chase them, a thirst for blood glinting in their eyes and weapons in their hands. But the leader of the gang- the lanky dude who looked like he could have been the very one who founded Jamestown- carried the head of Lorna’s Aunt and let the blood drip onto his feet.

“I can’t believe they would do such a thing!” Sara muttered in horror, feeling herself begin to cry, too. Her heart skipped beats in her chest, but still pounded loudly enough to be the only thing she could hear.

What kind of freaky wood-dwelling people would take their occult practices so far that it resulted in the murder of an innocent old woman? And now Lorna, this sweet girl, is left to wander about alone and fend for herself?

And now they’re coming for her, too?

“ **No way**! This is crazy! We’re getting out of here,  _now_!”

With that, Sara was already formulating an escape route in her mind. It didn’t take too long a time of searching before she came across a long wooden plank with a few nails poking out of it at the very tip that she would use as a weapon to defend herself and Lorna with. Grabbing it, she turned to see Lorna having already finished the dress, prying it off of the coat rack she’d been using to hold it up with.

“Aye. You must leave immediately.” she said, folding the dress and setting it over Sara’s free arm. “But do put this on, first, so as not to arouse their suspicions! I don’t want you up on the gallows with me.”

“ **WHAT**!? What are you talking about?”  Sara was in utter disbelief at Lorna’s words. To stay here was to commit suicide, and not only was she perfectly aware of it, but she seemed to be embracing it and had a smile on her face as she said it. She was so far gone into whatever persona that those loons out there had created for her that she must have believed she truly was deserving of death for her imaginary evil deeds.

“Lorna, listen to me; you are not going to die. I’m not going to let you.” Sara tried to reason with her, putting her weapon to the side and resting a soothing hand on Lorna’s shoulder. “You are  _not_  a witch, you are  _not_  evil, and you are leaving with me _now_.”

She merely shook her head in response, her tear-stained cheeks flushing crimson once more. She took both of Sara’s hands into her own and squeezed them gently. Her skin was as chill as ice.

“Thank you for your kind words, dear Sara.” She whispered, looking down at the floor as her tears fell to it. “But I do deserve to be hanged. You are ignorant to the evils I have committed in my past…”

Lorna had rendered her companion speechless.

Sara couldn’t for the life of her wrap her head around Lorna _ever_  doing anything even remotely evil. Still, she followed the accused witch’s gaze to the basket of turtles.

“The lost souls that I have taken advantage of for my own gain…” she carried on, blinking away more globules of salty tears. “It’s only right that my soul parish, too. It’s a blessing that I will be killed!”

Sara shook her head as Lorna continued, crying right along with her, though her tears were more profuse. Her battered and bloodied legs grew wobbly again and she sat down on the floor, watching as Lorna picked up one of the turtles and gently pat its head with her finger.

“This home is a home no more without Auntie Whispers. I can’t bear to be in it any longer.” She placed a sweet kiss on the turtle’s shell and set it back in the basket before kneeling down in front of the sobbing refugee she’d plucked from the forest. She cupped both of her chilly hands over Sara’s cheeks and brushed away her tears with her thumbs, giving her a comforting smile that bore into the girl’s heart.

“Trust me, sweet child. My time has come.”

Lorna kissed Sara’s forehead and smoothed out the kinks in her hair, plucking the stray twigs and bits of golden leaves from it, too. She brought her to her feet and gently shoved her back up the stairs, to the room that made her sad again normally.

But Lorna wasn’t so sad this time.

She was filled with joy and warmth, and Sara swore as the kindly young witch cleaned out the wounds on her legs and wrapped the bandages around them that she could see a blindingly bright light in her loving eyes even in such a dim room.

“My wish now, is for you to be safe.” Lorna told Sara, unfolding the freshly knitted dress and handing it to her to put on. “You must wear this gown until you’re out of this area of the wood. If they see you dressed in that… they will kill you. If you speak to them without first being spoken to, they will kill you. If you tell them anything about yourself that could make you anything more than just a sweet young face, they will kill you.”

Never in Sara’s life did she feel so at the mercy of someone else’s hand than she did at that moment. She peeled off her clothes quickly and replaced them with the soft cotton interior of a black dress that looked identical to Lorna’s aside from the shade. The two of them made their way down the staircase for what would be the final time, the folds of the skirts cascading over the steps gracefully behind them. The satchel that Lorna had given her that contained her ordinary attire bounced on her hip as she moved.

Lorna brought Sara to the doorstep and gently swatted the girl’s hand when she attempted to grab her previously discarded weapon.

“Trust me. Be a doll.” Lorna whispered, the smile fading from her face for just a moment to convey the grim repercussions there would be for her dear Sara should she neglect to follow her orders exactly. “Do as I say, and you will go free and scathed by nothing but the trees.”

“I  _can’t_  leave you, Lorna.” Sara choked out, feeling her heart twitch erratically as she stared into her friend’s soft amber irises. “You don’t have to do this! You  _don’t_  have to die! Your past mistakes don’t define you, and you can find forgiveness with time! Everything will be okay with time!” she desperately pleaded for Lorna to come along with her, biting her lip as she felt herself begin to sob helplessly, because the look in Lorna’s eyes beheld the answer she did not want to see in them.

“Time will not heal my wounds… I used to think like you. My heart only grows heavier with time. I only get lonelier.”

“You don’t have to be alone! We can stay together. I promise! I’ll find a way so that we’re together and you never feel alone again.”

“Your words are like honey, little bee.” Lorna giggled, touched by the other’s willingness to make sacrifices for her despite only having known her for a couple of hours at most.

This Sara was a kind soul, just like Auntie Whispers. Sara would look past the horrible deeds that Lorna had done when she was wicked, even when she discovered all of the gruesome details. Sara would still love her even if she was a murderer. It was painful for the young girl to refrain from accepting Sara's promise of love and companionship, but she had learned better than to let innocent souls into her life; they only wound up hurt in the end. 

Lorna would make sure that this one lived to see the light of day again.

She would set this one free. 

“Fly far away from this wretched place, Sara.”

Lorna didn’t let Sara spit another word of protest before the door of the cottage flew open by way of a powerful wind. She nudged Sara out of the dwelling and waved goodbye to her when she turned back.

That same wind seemed to blow the tears out of her eyes as she made her way through the clearing, as though Lorna was still behind her giving her gentle pushes toward safety.

...

She did not come across the cult again.

But Lorna was not as lucky. She kept the cabin door open and searched through the darkness until she found light. She could hear the sounds of the mob chanting and the clanking of their metal pitchforks echo through the trees. 

“I SPY THE WITCH!” their leader chortled maddeningly as he held the head of Auntie Whispers up as high as he could get it, letting droplets of blood fall onto the cracked skin of his forehead.

Lorna looked on with a smile that never faltered.

It didn’t matter what they did with her beloved Aunt’s remains, because she knew her soul was elsewhere and free of pain. She closed her eyes and put her hands at her sides, relaxing her nerves.

She was ready for this.

It wouldn’t hurt a bit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to stop myself before I described the scene at the gallows (It's probably unnecessary)  
> I hope this was decent.  
> It's pretty spooky I think.  
> But then again things I also find spooky include milk and crop circles.  
> This is my go at writing Sara on an adventure in the Unknown, the first of many I have planned!  
> Please feel free to leave constructive criticism and your overall thoughts of it!


	2. Around the Riverbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara finds a sick little boy and needs to get him help.

The night seemed both instantaneous and everlasting as Sara carried through the woods.

Every so often, the distinct sound of shoes creaking against wood and eerie cackling echoed through the trees, making her shiver as she pondered the fate of her savior Lorna.

Several times, she caught herself looking over her shoulder with the desire to go back to that cottage and retrieve her friend. In the end, however, the logic of the situation was what stopped her; ten madmen with weapons and fire against two unarmed girls, weighed down by heavy clothing?

Going back was sentencing _both_ of them to death.

Sara wasn’t afraid of death, though. In fact, she had something of a fascination with it and all that it entailed, often staying up late at night wondering what lay on the other side of mortality. What she  _did_ fear was being unsuccessful in her attempt to save Lorna. She could imagine that look in Lorna’s eyes, feel the coarse rope tied around her neck, and hear the sounds of the crowd cheering in anticipation of their murder.

She scratched her neck.

_My wish now, is for you to be safe._

She sighed, trying to force the image out of her mind.

Eventually, as the trees began to all look the same and the canopies of bronze and amber leaves up above became illuminated by the morning sun, Sara could hardly remember the ordeal. Even with as terrifying as it had been, these woods had a way of making any traveler preoccupied with a fear they couldn’t pinpoint that took up space in every crevice of their brain, leaving no room for anything else.

Coming at last upon a small river, Sara felt disoriented, tired, and weak, and couldn’t keep herself from collapsing onto her knees before it. She cupped her hands into the ice-cold water and patted her face down with it to stay awake, getting the long sleeves of her black dress damp in the process.

Every breeze stung, but thankfully, the water cleared the clouds out of her eyes.

When she opened them again, she could make out the finer details of the area around her. The soil here was grey, almost the same shade as cement.  The water was only clear in the area just before her, and the further one cast their gaze, the thicker the fog became. To her left, there was a rickety-looking outhouse tipped over onto its side with its door hanging open. It seemed as though vines from its vengeful brothers and sisters nearby were slowly reclaiming the tree that had been taken from their forest family in order to construct it, and tiny sprouts could be found in the creases of the wood where flowers bloomed.

Squawking noises echoed through the trees, scattering the leaves up above as some sort of bird-like creature landed on the branches. They cascaded over Sara as she made her way for the outhouse; it was the only way across the river that didn’t pose any kind of danger.

It took her a good while to free her makeshift boat from the clutches of the clingy earth below, but once she did, she dragged it to the water and hopped inside just as it floated away from the shore.

The wood was silent.

The boat sent ripples through the sheet-like water and made quite a stunning image. It made Sara forget for a moment that she was in a strange place, and that her chances of getting out of it alive were slim. Beneath the surface, she could see the friendly faces of swimmers past, smiling up at her as though to say they were happy in their underwater utopia. The soulful river comforted her on her lonely journey.

And naturally when she was feeling lonely, her mind wandered to her friends.

They had been especially kind to her of late, but she wasn’ t really sure why. They were being _gentle_ with her; whereas they spent their lunch and passing periods playfully teasing her about her unorthodox sense of fashion and pastimes, they instead gave her kind words of encouragement that seemed to come from nowhere, expressing concern for her well-being.

Wirt especially had been holding her hand through everything, insisting that he do every small, mundane part of her daily routine for her- from carrying her books to her classes to sitting in the courtyard before school just brushing her hair.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t enjoy spending so much time with Wirt and all of her friends, but it was more so that she didn’t appreciate their pity.

And apparently, now she doesn’t know what that pity was for.

She scratched her head.

Maybe Wirt didn’t pity her… no, his fears were genuine, just like everything else was about him, from the very tip of his pointy, disheveled hair to the hem of his high-water jeans. But the rest of them were just smothering her with misguided concern.

Sara looked down to see the muddy shore of the other side of the river. Gathering her things from inside of her “boat”, she stood and hopped out, dragging it to secure it in some bushes nearby just in case she needed to use it again. It wasn’t long before she was met with the face of a young wanderer, flushed pink and doused with cold sweat as he curled up on the forest floor, howling in pain.

“Oh my gosh are you okay?” she asked, frightened by the scene.

“Help!” his shrill voice cried, just barely audible to Sara despite only being a few feet ahead of her. 

Rushing to his side, she knelt down and took him into her arms cautiously without stopping to think about what kind of repercussions it may have for herself. His tiny body tucked perfectly beneath her protective arms as she stood again and scanned the area for any sign of his caretakers.

“ _Of course_ there’s no one here.” she groaned, shifting the boy to her hip. He rested his tired head on her shoulder and rubbed his eyes, emitting a soft whine.

“Owie!”

“Owie? Where?” Sara asked him gently, patting his head to soothe him.

“There!”

“There?”

The tiny boy winced in pain when her hand came down onto his head, feeling like a ton of bricks. His swollen brain twitched and writhed about in his skull, making him sob loudly enough to pop Sara’s eardrums, and to pop his own eyes out of his skull partway.

“I’m so sorry!” she whispered-yelled, feeling that if she spoke any louder, she’d surely make matters worse.

Sara shifted his body so that he was cradled in her arms like an infant and swayed slowly from side to side, whistling the tune of a lullaby.

But no matter how sweet the music sounded, the child roared, like an ocean on a stormy sea. Sara could practically feel his insides churning when he laid against her. When he threw his head back, unable to withstand the pain any longer, his breath hit her face, smelling of mint and flowers all at once, with faint undertones of rubbing alcohol that made her eyes sting.

This was no simple booboo.

This kid was in bad shape, and he was only going to get worse without medical treatment.

“There’s no way there’s a doctor anywhere around here.” Sara stated, her fear-stricken voice completely drowned out by the sound of the little boy’s cries.

She carried him back to the river and freed the coffin from its hiding place. Putting him to the side, she rushed behind a tree and shuffled back into her overalls and sweater, using the fluffy, oversized gown that Lorna had sewn for her the night before to line the bottom of the outhouse, so it could act as a sort of makeshift mattress. She laid the boy inside of it and gave him the empty bag she’d carried the clothes in to act as a pillow.

“I’ve got to go find help.” she told the child, her eyes downcast.

The poor boy had cried himself to the edge of consciousness and stared at her with half-lidded blue eyes, his vocal cords too strained to project his voice even if he tried to. He managed to murmur something that sounded like “no,” but Sara paid it no mind and was already off through the trees to try and find this boy the help he needed.

It was much easier for her to run with her legs less restricted by the dress, and within a moment’s time, she was at least a half mile away from where she’d started.

A town could be seen below where she stood on a hill, and luckily, a path had been cleared that led directly to it. She ran clumsily down to the city, but managed to make it there without pulling a Wirt and immediately screamed at the top of her lungs;

“ **I NEED A DOCTOR RIGHT NOW**!”

She gasped for air and keeled over as her lungs tried to replenish themselves. By the time she looked up, there was going to be a doctor, and that little boy was going to be safe and sound and then she could be on her way back to wherever it was she was going.

Unfortunately, nothing ever happens as it really should.

“H-hello?” Sara stammered, feeling on the verge of frustrated tears when not a single soul came outside to see what all the fuss was about.

Her face flushed red with anger and she ran to the middle of the town, where a wooden pedestal happened to be. She climbed onto it and looked around for any sign of life, but no spectators were concerned with the crazy girl who’d just come to their dwelling to scream and break things at some point probably.

“I SAID. I NEED. A DOCTOR!” Sara screamed, her voice hoarse. “A LITTLE BOY IS IN TROUBLE! DOESN’T ANYONE CARE!?”

“No one is here  _to_  care, I’m afraid.”

Sara gasped in shock when a voice actually responded to her.

As she spun round on her heel to face the man responding to her calls of distress, the old, water-logged wood on which she stood let out its last breaths and collapsed, taking her with it. In an instant, her face was pressed against wood and sharp splinters were piercing through the bandages on her legs, reopening healed wounds, and leaking blood onto her socks and sneakers.

Tears of pain pooled up in her eyes as she willed herself meet the gaze of that man again.

“Look what you’ve done; broken what was quite possibly my most sacred possession.” he whispered in a faint English accent, his deep voice sending shivers of unease through Sara’s body.

She reluctantly took his hand, cringing at how cold and clammy it was; just like Jason Funderberker’s. He effortlessly brought her to her feet again and pat her down to help get the dirt off of her clothes.

“Wh-what do you mean no one is here to care?”

“I mean, child, that this town was abandoned ages ago and only _I_ reside here.” he spoke quickly and sharply, as though he were well-read.

Strangely enough, Sara noted that his breath smelled the same as the little boy’s did in the woods, and she began to wonder if the two had some sort of connection to one another.

But they certainly didn’t look alike; whereas the little boy had black hair and pale, sky-blue eyes, this man had scraggly grey hairs and eyes that looked completely void of color. His face was old- _far_ too old to have a child so young.

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone. And everything here belongs to me. You’ve gone and broken my favorite thing and disturbed my peaceful studying.” he groaned in irritation, as though she ought to know everything he was saying already. “I’ll help your child, but you must fix this podium and fix up the other things around here that aren’t working as payment, as I don’t believe someone like  _you_  would have any money to pay me with.”

Stunned by how utterly rude the man’s words were, Sara’s eyes widened and her brows furrowed.

“You’re a doctor? And what is  _that_  supposed to mean?” she spat bitterly, clenching her fists as she felt her blood coming to a boil. “I don’t know how to fix anything.”

“You are somehow incompetent at the one thing you people are good for. How amusing.” he chortled dryly, raising a brow and turning away from her.

The collar of his long, black jacket obscured his face from Sara’s vision. He began to head toward the path on which Sara traveled to the town.

“Take me to the boy now, and then come back here and start your work.”

If she didn’t know any better, she would rip off one of the wooden boards of the podium and whack that half-dead looking man over the head with it. But her skills in medicine were limited to giving people band-aids and hugs, so she had no choice but to bite her tongue and keep her hands tucked into her pockets in case they decided to lunge at him on their own.  

...

The path to the river and back lasted far too long.

Sara was forced to walk behind the man, despite the fact that  _she_  should have been the soul navigator of the journey considering he wasn’t supposed to know where the child was. But the way he angled his body expertly through the branches and sometimes sniffed at the crisp air and grinned told Sara that this man knew more about her refugee than he had originally led on.

When they came upon the outhouse with the sleeping child inside of it, he didn’t seem surprised. He tossed the boy over his shoulder like a ragdoll and took off at a break-neck pace back to “his city”, leaving Sara to trail behind him slowly because she wasn’t too keen on “getting to work” for him.

Just being in his presence made her feel like she wanted to vomit, actually, and if she had to spend one more second with him hovering over her and breathing on her face, she was probably going to faint.

_No wonder he lives in a city all by himself. Everyone probably left to get away from him._

The man walked far ahead of her, and once he dove down the hill, he was no longer in her sights. She quickened her pace, returning to the town square to see a desolate wasteland once again. The air didn’t stink, so that probably meant that “The Doctor” had gone inside of a building. She wanted to go and search through them, but it was clear that the Doctor intended nothing else for her than to be his handyman; when she looked back at the podium, a toolbox was there at her disposal.

 _This is the worst guy on the planet._ Sara thought, kneeling down in front of the podium and reaching for a hammer.

Fixing it up was not a difficult task, though, so she’d finished in no time with it looking brand new.

She was a lot better at fixing things than she’d originally thought, but she supposed she had to be to some degree if she really planned on studying to be an aerospace engineer in college. She stepped up onto it to test its sturdiness, and was pleased when it didn’t cave underneath her because her skin hadn’t yet finished healing from being torn open the second time and probably couldn’t withstand another assault.

She picked up her toolbox and turned toward the empty square, looking around to see if any of the buildings seemed to be in usage. But not one had a light on, and all of the entrances were locked when she went to them- cobwebs on the doorknobs after going so long without being turned.

“Owie!”

Sara glanced over her shoulder to see the little boy again, who was smiling and toddling toward her excitedly, having come from who knows where.

The creepy man was nowhere in sight.

“Hey there!” Sara smiled, kneeling down and opening her arms for the boy to walk into. “My name is Sara, by the way.” she giggled, not wanting the boy to know her as “ _Owie_.”

“Sara! I’m Archie!” he chirped, wrapping his arms around her neck.

Sara’s mood was instantly improved as she held the boy tightly in her arms, picking him up and twirling him around a little. He laughed all the while, looking bright as the sun and in decent health, as though he wasn’t just on the verge of death hours earlier.

“I’m happy you’re feeling better, Archie.” she said, tapping his nose.

But now that the boy was cured and her work was more or less complete, she realized that she had no idea what she was going to do with Archie. Where were his parents? If he didn’t live in this city, then where did he come from and what was he doing all by himself in the woods?

He’s barely old enough to form coherent sentences, so Sara doubted she’d be able to get all of the information she needed from him. She wished he had like, a dog collar or something, so she would know where to return him to.

“Well, I guess it’ll be fun to take a walk with you.” she sighed, patting his head. “You’re really cute.”

His face really was refreshing in such a dull, dark place. He was the first person Sara had seen since she began her journey through the woods that didn’t look like a ghost.

“I fear his treatment is far from over, maiden.”

“WOAH- GEEZ!” Sara screamed, holding Archie close to her chest and jumping backward.

Her heart caught in her throat as she searched for the man, whose voice seemed to be projecting from nowhere.  But finally, she spun round to see him on the platform nearby the chapel, his face looking as grim and worn as ever, but his eyes illuminated with a sort of fire she hadn’t yet seen in him. 

Once she had calmed down, she willed herself to speak.

“Uhm, I dunno, he seems fine to me.”

“Bring him to me. He has a long road to recovery.” with that, the Doctor held out his hand, unveiling a ghostly white palm stained red with droplets of what could only be blood, leaking from the callouses on his fingertips.

Sara stuck out her tongue in disgust.

“Poor Archie.” she cooed in a hush tone, gently bouncing the child up and down in her arms. “I didn’t know he was so gross. I blame it on the lighting in this place.”

“I said bring him to me,  **now**.” the Doctor repeated, the conflagration in his irises growing ever larger. “He is only feeling better because of the medication I gave him for pain, but his illness is still present and still wreaking havoc on him from the inside.”

There was a long moment of pause.

Sara sat Archie down and carefully examined his every feature, gasping under her breath when she saw that the whites of his eyes were still tinted with yellow, as were the crescent moons on his fingernails. His lips were cut at the corners and bleeding.

Maybe he  _was_  still sick, after all, and the pain medication was just extremely potent.

Despite every gut instinct she had telling her not to, she pinched Archie’s cheek and turned him around, urging him toward his Doctor without another word.

The Doctor grinned sweetly at the child and cocked his head to the side.

“There, there, that’s a good boy.” he whispered, taking Archie’s small hand into his own. “And as for you; the chapel doors need a fresh coating of red paint. See to it that you’re finished come nightfall.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll get it done.” Sara murmured, walking toward the buckets of paint and reaching for a paintbrush. At least it required a little less thinking and effort on her part…

As instructed, Sara was finished with her second task when the moon took its place in the sky amongst the stars. She admired her work, seeing her own reflection in the glossy surface of the doors, and the reflection of Archie, as well, standing on top of the podium behind her.

“Huh? What are you doing here, kiddo?” Sara called over her shoulder.

“Sara.” Archie said solemnly.

She pouted her lip and walked to him, sitting at his side and rubbing his back lovingly. His gaze was foggy, his eyes were still jaundiced, and now, his skin had become transparent, allowing every bright green vein in his face, arms, and legs to be seen among splotches of grey bruises, tinted red from blood.

Somehow, he looked even worse than he did before, only now he wasn’t in a happy mood.

“You’re not looking so hot.”

Archie balled his small hands into fists and rubbed at his eyes before crawling into her lap. He clung to her and cried into her chest, his little voice as quiet as a mouse to her ears.

“It hurts...” he choked out between sobs. “All over!”

“Don’t worry, Archie. You’re gonna get better soon.” Sara whispered, still rubbing circles into his back in an effort to assuage his sadness and anxieties.

As per the norm, Sara had no idea where that Doctor had gone off to and had yet to locate what building he’d been nursing Archie in. She triple-checked the area to make sure that he wouldn’t pop up out of the blue like he has proven to be a fan of doing in the short time she’d known him. Once she was sure that she and Archie were alone and weren’t going to be intruded upon, she smiled at him and laid him across her lap, draping an arm over his midsection as a way to keep him safe from the chilly night air.

“How about I sing you a song so you can get to sleep?” she suggested, tucking some of his hair behind his ears.

Archie nodded, grinning sheepishly despite how much he felt like frowning. 

Sara nodded and closed her eyes before she began to sing.

“ _When you hold on as tight you can,_  
_but what you held onto won’t stay,_  
_you just have to learn to let go_  
_and find something else another way._  
  
_When you wish on a star as hard as you can,_  
_but what you wished for doesn’t come true,_  
_you just have to look down at the ground,_  
_and appreciate what’s in front of you.”_

The bitter breeze blew by and made the both of them shiver.

In a town without streetlamps, the darkness fell over their faces like velvety blankets, making it too difficult to see much of anything. Though they were two of only three inhabitants total in the village, Sara could feel that there were many more souls lurking nearby. But she tried her best to maintain her composure, and tried all she could to make Archie comfortable, too.

“ _You have to learn to let things go_  
_there’s always something else for you to hold onto_  
_so when what you loved gets too old_  
_don’t be afraid to find something new._  
  
_Don’t be afraid to let go_  
_of the things that are bothering you,_  
_of the fears that make your heart sad and blue._  
_Don’t be afraid to start anew_.”

The placid look on her face was evident to the Doctor, whose insides churned in disgust.

The sickeningly sweet lullaby that she sung to that despicable child was nothing more than a mockery of himself and all he stood for. He grit his teeth as he neared them, making no sound as he stepped through the grass, not disturbing Sara, who remained ignorant of his presence.

" _You just have to learn to let go_  
_Life is too short_  
_and the world is too old_  
_You just have to learn to let go_.”   
  
“ **Give him back**. His treatment is nowhere near complete.”

Sara groaned in irritation as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She was getting really tired of this guy and couldn’t have anticipated her departure any more than she already did. Looking down at the then sleeping boy in her arms, she stood and walked in front of the man, waiting for him to follow. But he would be having no such thing. 

“H-hey, what are you doing!?” she cried in shock as he latched his fingers around her wrist, digging his long, green-tinted nails into her skin. She struggled to keep Archie in her arms as the madman tugged her backward, nearly throwing her on the ground.

“ **And where do you think you’re going**? Did I permit you to leave this area?” his voice boomed, rattling the old wooden houses around them. He trembled, his pupils dilating despite no light being around to cause it. “You **know** , don’t you!?”

“Know what!? I don’t know anything anymore!”

“ _LIES!_  You **know** about the poison! _You **know** all about it!”_

Sara hadn’t the slightest clue of what the man was talking about, but she knew in that instant that he was absolutely off the deep end. She swallowed the lump in her throat and attempted to back away from him, but he only gripped her wrist tighter, making her grimace at the sparks of pain that it shot up her arm.

“I will not let you come between me and sweet vengeance!” he screamed heatedly in her face, making her jump with fright and stirring Archie from his slumber. 

But the fear wasn’t going to stay with her for long.

For as many reasons as there were for being afraid of him, there was another for why she shouldn’t be.

Sara took a deep breath and shifted her gaze toward the sky, where she could have sworn she saw a star fly by and leave a trail of dust in its wake.

“You can’t control whether or not I leave.” she said softly, pulling her arm away and grabbing a hold of his wrist.

With all of the strength she had in her, she squeezed the bone and twisted it in the opposite direction. She kept twisting until she heard it snap and she saw him on the ground with tears in his eyes.

Archie sobbed wildly as Sara ran away from the Doctor.

She wanted to help him calm down and let him know he had nothing to fear; that Doctor was weak. If he had any real strength, he wouldn’t have needed to  _trick_  her into thinking it was safe to hand Archie over to him. He would have just taken him by any means necessary.

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME!” the Doctor screamed, coming up the hill behind her, wielding a wooden plank in one hand and a syringe in the other.

He wasn’t going to let them escape.

He knew the woods like the back of his hand.

But Sara knew she could get away. Her legs carried her faster than she ever thought they could, back to the river by the boat that was still filled with her other belongings. She rested Archie inside of it and pushed their vessel to the shore as quickly as she could, stepping in after him and pushing the ground to coax the boat to the middle of the river.

In truth, there was no logical reason as to why the Doctor shouldn’t have been able to catch up to them, swim to the boat, and slay them both if he so pleased.

He stood on wobbly legs at the riverbed, his arms trembling and his fingers being stuck with splinters the tighter he gripped his makeshift sword. With bloodshot eyes, he stared down into the water and hesitated for a brief moment before he jumped...

He saw faces.

 _Dozens_ of them, looking pained, looking  **angry**.

They had hands, too; reaching up for him.

Trying to grab him...

… trying to pull him under, where he _belonged_.

The water knocked the wind clean out of his lungs and back into the sky he’d stolen it from. It was so freezing that he could hardly move his limbs to keep himself afloat, as though the blood in his veins was icing over and rendering his arms too heavy.

Sara held Archie’s hand and wrapped him up in the dress to keep him warm, covering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the Doctor thrashing about in the water and trying desperately to catch onto their boat with his plank.

After minutes of struggling, his head went under.

She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He sank to the very bottom of the river, where everything was covered in moss and vines. He got his leg caught on one and didn’t ever come back up above the water again, not as far as Sara could see, anyway.

“Shh, shh.” she murmured in Archie’s ear, offering him a smile that was so innocent and sweet that one would be none the wiser that she just watched a man drown. “Everything is okay; he’s gone now. He can’t hurt you.”

“No, he’s here!”

“He’s _there_.”

“There?”

Archie climbed into Sara’s arms and looked over her shoulders to the patch of water that had claimed the Doctor’s destiny. Archie could see little bubbles, but nothing else. With a smile, he laid his head in the crook of Sara’s neck and closed his eyes, feeling as though the sickness was lifted by the departure of the madman’s spirit from the world.

“You save me! Thank you!”

A hallow victory to say the least, seeing as she was the one who put him in the position of needing to be saved to begin with. And to make matters worse, Sara still knew nothing about the boy’s whereabouts, and he was still bad health.

…

They watched the morning sun come up together.

When they reached the other side of the river, Sara was met with moving bushes and a misty voice that seemed to call for Archie. She quickly picked him up and carried him closer to the voice, curious as to who it could be and hoping that it was a family member he would be in better hands with.

When Sara saw the little girl, whose curly black hair was tied back into a single braid on her head, her own face lit up at how happy she seemed to be to see Archie.

“There you are! I’ve been waiting!” the sweet girl laughed, running to Sara and hopping up and down, arms reaching up for her friend.

Archie seemed just as thrilled with the girl’s presence and wriggled out of Sara’s grasp just to hold his friend’s hands.

“Hessy!”

Sara watched as the children spun each other around in circles until they collapsed into a pile of laughs on the ground. Archie looked up at Sara and waved at her so as to say goodbye.

“Thank you! I found my friend!” he explained when Sara was confused.

She had been more than prepared to carry Archie along with her on her journey until they came across a guardian for him. Hessy, as Archie had called her, was far too young to be reliable to look after him- probably around his name age.

“Woah, hold on, there! Where are you guys going to go now?”

“We go home.” Archie stated matter-of-factly. “Bye-bye, Sara!”

Sara wanted to protest their departure. She wanted to know exactly where they were headed off to and make absolute sure they’d be in good hands, but something in her heart felt settled.

“Bye-bye, Archie.” she said somewhat sadly, watching their retreating backs be swallowed whole by the trees.

But where was she to go from here? Maybe she could follow them and see if they led to any sort of sane human being that could help her figure out what she was doing here. She could go back to Lorna’s house to see if she was okay…

Her neck was terribly itchy suddenly.

“Back across the river, I guess.” she decided, shuffling over to her boat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had been very dark so far, but I promise, there's a reason for that, and it will get brighter from here! Look for Beatrice in Chapter 3! This story will probably seem really weird and random if you've never read a certain novel. :~)


	3. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara finds a place to stay for a little while.

There is a point where you become so tired that you feel you never need to sleep again; Sara discovered this accidentally while scouting out a patch of grass to lie on.

Squinting through the sunshine, she saw two skies from where she laid on her back. Her torso twitched, weeping pathetically.

Much to her chagrin, there is _never_ a point where you become so hungry that you can’t eat anymore. She draped an arm over her stomach to muffle its cries for nourishment. It worked for the most part, so she was able to finally shut her eyes and block out the feeling of impending doom bubbling in her chest. The longer she had to think about it, the more grateful she became; there were worse ways to go.

A wave of calmness washed over.

Droplets of liquid dripped onto her forehead.

_Wait… it’s raining?_

It seemed a _little_ too cliché for it to be sprinkling when she accepted death…

Riddled with suspicion, Sara looked up and met the face of a dog hovering over her, panting. She gasped softly under her breath and covered her eyes with her arm before more saliva could dampen her face. Its silky fur was shaded brown and white, but its beauty was muddled by the fact that it was covered in dirt and had clumps of what looked like only _partially_ chewed beef jerky entangled in it.

It whined under its breath and nuzzled against her arm, its fur getting caught in the knit fabric of her sweater. She rolled onto her side to escape.

Clearing her throat for some fresh air, free of the scent of meat and bones, Sara felt the dog nudge her in the back, crying louder this time.

One, two, three shoves… the fourth caught her by surprise with its force and, unprepared, she found herself lying face-first in the dirt, the pup’s body haphazardly sprawled atop her own. She didn’t appreciate being used as a bed, but found she welcomed the warmth anyway.

Wriggling halfheartedly as a last-ditch effort to get away from the overly friendly dog, Sara sighed in resignation.

“Alright… you can stay.”

The overgrown puppy chirped with delight in response. He’d known it would be easy to wear her down. But he didn’t get to reap the benefits of his achievement for long before he heard the call of one of his masters beckon him elsewhere.

“Here, boy!” 

With newly perked-up ears, the dog hopped up and trotted back from whence it came. The unwanted weight of the puppy was relinquished from Sara’s aching back, but left it cold and exposed to the frosty, early morning winds. She gazed wistfully at the bushes and plucked pieces of dirt and leaves from her hair.

Wrapping her arms around her torso to keep warm, she laid back down in the grass. If she had been in her right state of mind, she would have immediately thought to ask the dog’s owner for help on getting out of there… but she was tired, and the last two times she sought aid ended terribly. If she really was going to pass on, she didn’t want to do so knowing that she had been responsible for _three_ deaths, rather than two.

“ _Mack!_ I said it’s time to go home! You’re gonna get into trouble with your mama!”

The voice sounded far away.

Sara heard loud moans over the stranger’s calls. She rolled onto her back, only to be assaulted by paws digging into her midsection frantically. She gasped for air, inhaling the pungent scent of that wonderful combination of meat and… whatever else the dog had fancied eating that morning. The taste in her mouth made her want to vomit, but luckily, she had nothing _to_ throw up.

“Aw, geez, Mack. Look what you did.”

Sara’s nauseated, green face met an icy blue gaze as she craned her neck upward, gently shoving the dog’s face to the side.

There stood a girl, whose bright red hair was tied back into twin braids, partially covered by a creamy bonnet. Her cheeks were littered with dozens of freckles, and like her dog’s, they had bits of food caked to them. The long skirt tails of her dress were tucked into her knee-length brown boots, so they wouldn’t get dirty during her play. If she hadn’t have mentioned a home, Sara would have assumed that the girl’s unkempt appearance that mirrored her own indicated that she was a lost traveler, too. 

“Are you okay?” she asked tentatively, locking eyes with Sara.

Her bright blue irises flooded with curiosity as she scrutinized Sara’s appearance for answers. Yet, she was only met with more questions. Why wasn’t this girl wearing a dress, what was in that bag of hers, why was she trying to go to sleep on the ground, and, most importantly, why on _earth_ did she have a big red patch with the letter _“A”_ buttoned to her suspenders? 

“You look awful!” she exclaimed in horror, so loudly that birds began to scatter frightfully from their nests in the trees.

The girl flinched as she saw them, her pupils shrinking in terror. Strike two. She quickly whispered a string of apologies under her breath. 

“Thanks.” Sara said monotonously, shooing the dog off of her chest and attempting to gather herself to her feet.

But her arms were so heavy… she swayed uneasily falling forward, finding herself entirely unable to stand upright again.

“Woah! You need to lie down or something.” the red-headed girl appeared at Sara’s side just in time to catch her. Meanwhile, Mack licked her wounds, bringing them to his owner’s attention. “Let’s get you back to the mill to clean those up.” she said with a triumphant nod.

She was barely tall enough for Sara to comfortably lean on, but she was much stronger than she looked and was able to practically carry her all the way to _the Mill_.

Sara stared with a deadpanned expression at the large Mill house over a small stream; how on earth could she have missed it? She must have just scraped by it dozens of times when she was running around in circles earlier.

“BEATRICE! HELP!” the girl screeched.

She slapped Mack’s side, urging him to skip across the stone pathway that led through the water and to the ground on which stood the Mill. He pattered in through the opened door and stayed there for a while. The sound of water rushing into the stream distracted Sara from the silence, but it apparently wasn’t enough to distract her companion, who clearly longed to break it.

“My name’s Louise, what about you?” she chirped curiously, cocking her head up at Sara.

“My name is Sara. Nice to meet you.” 

“I like it.” 

“Thank you.”

The elder girl grinned sheepishly. She was confused as to why the look on Louise’s face was slowly transforming from one of contentment to a grimace. It dawned on her eventually, though.

“HOLY MOLY! _BEATRICE_!” Louise cried, watching in horror as Sara’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she began to fall forward for the second time that day. In shock, she held out her arms just before she could fall into the stream and tried desperately to keep her upright. Holding the limp body in her grasp, Louise frantically scanned the area for her big sister, screaming her name a dozen times over.

“ **SHUT IT, LOUISE**! I’M RIGHT HERE!”

The girl- named Beatrice- lumbered out of the house, carrying a wet wash cloth in one hand, and Mack by his coat in the other. She looked peeved, as per the norm (how many times had she told Louise not to share her snacks with Mack?). Her expression further fell, brows furrowing in anger when she realized that her little sister was carrying a weary traveler, no doubt one who would have to be nursed back to health by yours truly.

“Dang it, Louise. Where do you keep _finding_ these people!?” Beatrice wailed, throwing her arms up in the air, tossing the dirty wash cloth to the side.

Mack yelped and ran toward the stream, because he remembered last time what happened when his mama got angry and didn’t want to be around to see the consequences. Beatrice expertly made her way across the stones and landed on the other side of the water, peering over Louise’s shoulder to look at the girl she had in tow. She pursed her lips as she examined her, cringing at the festering wounds and bits of tattered bandages plastered to the skin of her legs.

“Gross.”

Out of all of the people that Louise kept bringing home, Sara was probably in the worst condition. As much as Beatrice wanted to turn her away, her conscience would never let her hear the end of it if she did. She supposed she’d just have to go without enough to eat at dinner for a few days, for Sara’s sake.

“Hand her over.” she declared with a very dramatic sigh, holding her arms out.

Louise shifted Sara into Beatrice’s arms and focused her attention to the satchel that came with her. As Beatrice carried Sara over the stream, Louise slowly followed suit, digging around through Sara’s belongings with a grin on her face.

“Oooh, it’s a pretty dress.” she squealed in delight, running her fingers over the cotton skirt.

Beatrice glanced behind her to see Louise pulling the sleeve of said dress out of the bag and made a sound akin to a bear growling.

“What are you doing!? Stop being so nosy!” she scolded, her arm twitching as a wave of anger rushed over her. Almost losing her grip on Sara, she scrambled to carry her in a more comfortable position, settling for tucking one arm under her legs and the other behind her upper back.

“What? I can’t hear you cause… this fabric is too thick it’s… it’s blocking sound from getting to my ears, honest...” 

The littlest girl of the trio had draped the dress over her face to demonstrate how impossible it was for her to hear Beatrice’s orders, much to the elder’s annoyance. But she couldn’t deal with Louise’s shenanigans right now; she had been in the middle of hanging the laundry in the backyard to dry overnight, making sure the twins didn’t light the house on fire while they attempted to make breakfast, and taking care of her sick mother all the while, trying to cheer her up since their father had been away on business for almost a week now.

And to add to the never-ending list of responsibilities, she was now going to have to take care of this stranger because she couldn’t very well entrust her sisters Louise and Caroline with her safety, not after the two had fed their last house guest under cooked meat and got him food poisoning, prolonging his stay in the home.

The girls stepped through the front entrance and into the living room. Louise plopped herself down near the fireplace, carelessly emptying the contents of the satchel onto the floor. Like a flock of birds, her brothers Gilbert and Patrick- who had been sitting at the kitchen table waiting for their breakfast- scattered into the living room to see what good things Louise had brought home for them to mess with.

Beatrice gently laid Sara down on the red sofa next to the fire, feeling her forehead to see if she was feverish. Sara was the complete opposite; her skin so cold to the touch that Beatrice could have mistaken her for a corpse if she couldn’t hear her struggling to take in shallow breaths of air.

“Aww, that’s it? A dress and a photo?” Patrick said, crossing his arms over his chest in disappointment.

“Yep. Maybe next time we’ll find something better.” Louise frowned, holding the photograph in her hands and squinting to make out what was in it.

It had been taken in the dark, and the two people inside of it were curled up in blankets, fast asleep.  After a few more silent moments of deliberation, she shrugged her shoulders and tossed it to the side. 

The children sat on the floor, bored out of their minds. They needed something to distract them from how hungry they were, because the twins’ progress on their much anticipated breakfast was moving at a snail’s pace and wouldn’t be done until at least noon. Gilbert’s eyes wandered about the room until they landed on Sara, who was fast asleep on the couch.

“Hey, what’s that?” he inquired, pointing to the glinting patch on her suspenders.

“Huh? I don’t know...” Beatrice murmured absently, plucking bits of dirt from Sara’s shirt sleeves. “Don’t mess with her.” she warned in a menacing tone, snapping her neck to the foot of the sofa, where Patrick and Gilbert had crawled to for a thorough inspection of Sara’s sneakers.

They held up their hands defensively in unison, muttering promises not to _wake_ her, because it had an excellent loophole that would still allow them to _mess_ with her.

Beatrice knew they were going to disobey her, but had more pressing matters to attend to and not enough patience to shoo them away.

She stood and left the room, having collected enough evidence to determine that Sara not only wasn’t from around here, but that she didn’t even seem like she was from the same _century._ She tried to figure out what she was going to do with her when she was feeling better, when a breath she took in sent her into a fit of violent coughing. Pulled from her thoughts, her eyes widened at the black clouds of smoke bellowing out of the pot of porridge on the stove.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” she demanded of the twin boys standing in front of it, whose identical faces were plastered with guilt. 

“We went outside and forgot about it! Sorry!” the one on the left admitted shamefully. His counterpart punched him harshly in the shoulder.

“Great, now we’re in trouble.” he grunted angrily.

After being rudely shoved out of their sister’s way, the twins both struggled to keep their step and waved their hands wildly for something to grab on. Beatrice reached for the pot, cringing when the metal handles burned her palms and biting back curse words as she turned toward the opened back door.

Clumsily, she knocked her brother to the side again with her hip and tripped over the threshold, flinging the pot forward as she fell into the grass. The porridge splattered as it made impact with the ground, littering the freshly cleaned garments adorning the clothesline with goop and filling the air with the scent of burnt sugar. Beatrice chuckled joylessly at her good luck, rolling onto her back to meet the faces of the twins, who outstretched their hands for her to grab onto.

“Nice job, guys. As if we had any food to waste.” Beatrice was livid as they helped her to her feet, her face all the while turning the same color as Louise’s hair.

The twins stood frozen in time, prepared to receive their daily verbal lashing.

But Beatrice was tired. She simply walked back into the kitchen and pulled the basket of eggs they’d been rationing for until their father returned to cook in place of the porridge.

She didn’t know when he was going to be coming home.

She kept up a hopeful façade for her mom’s sake, but in truth, he’d told her that he should be back in two days’ time. She kept it to herself and prayed that nothing bad had happened to him, but the odds were against her, and the likelihood of him being in good health dwindled with each passing moment.

“Cecil,” Beatrice began, hovering her hand over the pan on the stove to test if it was the right temperature for cooking. She cracked in egg over the countertop and watched the bright yellow yolk drip into the pan. “Go get me the potatoes and grain from the back.”

“Yes ma’am.” the tattle-tale twin nodded, happy to have the opportunity to flee the scene of his crime. Angry, yelling Beatrice was feasible to deal with, but angry, quiet Beatrice was another story altogether that he didn’t care to read.

...

“Ahh…” Sara groaned.

She tried desperately to massage her throbbing temples in hopes of relinquishing some of her pain, but still, it persisted, making it too hard for her to even sit up.

The hand resting behind her head made it a little easier, coaxing her to sit against the armrest of the chair she laid in. She smelled something sweet in the air that was reminiscent of peach cobbler candles, as well as the distinct odor of ground coffee beans. Her stomach moaned pitifully.

“Here.”

Her breath hitched as a roll of fresh bread was pressed to her lips. She bit down and reached up to hold it with her hand, pulling it away once she’d taken a big bite. The warm butter in the middle of the bun dripped onto her tongue, and the soft, fluffy grain of the bread melted wonderfully upon contact with it.

“So,”

Sara looked at a girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Louise, but her hair was several shades lighter and tied back into a massive bun on the very top of her head with bright blue ribbons. She looked nearly a decade older, too.

The smile on her lips seemed forced.

Sara could tell she was hiding something.

“Your name is Sara, huh?”

“Mmm.” Sara nodded, covering her mouth. She swallowed the bread she had been chewing on and bit down onto the bun again to hold it as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. 

She didn’t feel the caked-up blood and scabs on her legs that she’d grown so accustomed to. Instead, soft bandages, like the ones that Lorna had wrapped her up in were there. Her skin burned slightly to the touch, and fresh droplets of blood leaked through the white fabric. Beatrice had cleaned them out with alcohol while Sara was sleeping, leaving a burning sensation on her puffy skin.

“I feel like I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t remember where.” Beatrice stated absently.

She shrugged her shoulders and rested her chin in her hands.

“What are you doing here, Sara?”

Sara thought about how she was supposed to answer a question that she was still iffy on herself. The sounds of the kids chattering at the dining room table nearby acted as white noise.

Ah yes, _that_ was the answer.

“I dunno.”

Beatrice frowned. Typical.

They never know. She didn’t know why she thought that Sara would be an exception to this rule.

“Well. Let me know when you figure it out because I want to hear about it.”

With that, she lifted the plate of pancakes she’d been resting in her lap onto an empty space on the sofa. Sara beamed at them and took the fork immediately, stabbing into the middle of the tiny stack and taking the best bite of food she’d ever tasted in her life. The orange peach puree that was drizzled over the fluffy, golden cakes was so thick and creamy that it was reminiscent of caramel, making her stomach growl and her mouth water even _while_ she was eating it. She was so engrossed in the meal that a thank you slipped her mind, but Beatrice could tell she was grateful on account of the stars in Sara’s eyes.

The slightly older girl smiled triumphantly; she made _the_ best pancakes on the planet.

Beatrice sat in front of the fire and watched the flames dance on top of the wooden logs, having folded up the thick dress that was in Sara’s bag and draped it over her own legs for warmth. Sara finished her pancakes quickly, feeling like she had enough strength to stand up again now that she had rest and a meal. Climbing down from the couch, she sat down next to Beatrice.

“Thank you.” she said, smiling brightly.

“Yeah.”

Sara glanced over to the photograph she had kept in her pockets upon arrival and smiled down at the peaceful faces it depicted. Was it weird to carry a picture like that around with her? 

Beatrice didn’t pry her gaze away from the fire, but had she seen the photo, she definitely would have thought it was weird.

“By any chance, when you were wandering around,” Beatrice began after clearing her throat. It felt tight. Her eyes were stinging. She knew tears were coming on, but she could hold them back because she’d always been an expert at fighting tears. “Did you see a man with a weird mustache that kinda looks like me anywhere?”

No indication of her wavering strength could be detected in her tone, but Sara could clearly see through Beatrice’s act and felt pangs of sympathy for her. Sifting through her experiences she’d had so far in the woods for a man who fit Beatrice’s description, she tapped her fingertip against her chin. 

“The only men I saw didn’t look anything like you.” she responded after a long pause. “I’m sorry…”

“Oh.”

“Is it your dad?”

Beatrice nodded silently, still too preoccupied with her war against despair to find the time to speak.  

“Lucky guess, then...” Sara chuckled nervously, resting her hands on her knees. She could see the kitchen from where they sat and noted that none of the boys there had a mustache or looked old enough to be a father. A plump woman with a blonde-haired baby on her breast sat at the head of the table, staring blankly into the mug in front of her. “Where did he go, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She hoped he had a good reason to leave behind his poor wife with their ten children and a mill to look after.

“We make stuff, and then he goes to towns to sell it.” Beatrice explained, following Sara’s gaze to the kitchen. “He was supposed to be back a while ago...”

Beatrice didn’t mean to let her secret slip, but something about Sara made it hard to resist. A weird, calming feeling settled over her, as though she knew her worries would be well-received by the strange, other-worldly girl beside her. 

“I think he’s gonna come back soon.” Sara smiled hopefully.

What prompted her to say it was beyond her. She made the bold assumption that Beatrice’s father was a good man, and that he was probably aching to get back to his beloved family by now, so it was only a matter of time.

A single tear escaped Beatrice’s eye. Sara’s certainty was refreshing, as her life had been bombarded with the opposite ever since her father broke his promise to be back in two days from his business trip. The truth was that he truly was a good man, and Beatrice couldn’t recall one lie he’d ever told to anyone. He’d probably just gotten lost or something…

_I think you’re right._

Beatrice smiled, her eyes glinting as they locked with Sara’s.

When she caught herself doing it, she cupped a hand over her mouth, heat rising to her freckled cheeks. She stood up, the dress still draped over her arm, and started up the stairs without another word, leaving Sara to sit in confusion in front of the fire. Her companion's face had been red; maybe she was just too warm and had to leave to cool down.

Sara was still cold and could stand to be in front of the fireplace for a moment longer, but she still wanted to talk to Beatrice and had yet to properly thank her for taking her in and feeding her.

“Can I follow you?” Sara called up the stairs, stumbling to the foot of it and looking up at her host’s retreating back. Beatrice’s response was a weird noise that Sara took as a “yes.”

The stairs were rickety; with every step Sara took forward, she feared the wood would cave in. Flashbacks of what had happened with the Doctor flooded her mind, making her run as quickly as she could, on her toes, the rest of the way to the second floor. The corridor was pitch black, aside from a light coming from the very last room at the end of the hall. Sara followed it cautiously and peered through the doorway, greeted by Beatrice and a room that made her feel like she was standing inside of an atlas.

The floral pink wallpaper was obscured by hand-drawn maps, with outdated looking continents of varying shapes and sizes that were in no way accurate to present day. There was a large sheet of paper in the middle of the floor that had a golden compass and a bowl of black ink resting beside it. A beautiful, bright orange rug embroidered with white patterns lay in front of a bronze-framed bed that carried a mattress coated in cotton blankets. 

Beatrice stood by the closet, hanging up the dress with the rest of her own clothing in it, as well as the clothing of each of her four sisters.

“Your room is crazy cool.” Sara complimented her once she turned around.

The older girl chuckled as she watched the younger one roll onto the furry carpet and curl up like Mack usually did. 

“You can lie on the bed if you want.” she laughed.

Shutting her closet doors, Beatrice sat on the floor in front of the map she’d been drafting. Sara sat up and peered over her shoulder to admire the fine details of it, taking note of the realistic texture that Beatrice had painstakingly drawn onto the trees. At the top, in fine cursive handwriting, it read _“The Woods.”_

“That looks amazing.” Sara stated with a grin. “Do you want to be a cartographer or something?”

“I guess it would be nice.” Beatrice gazed wistfully at her work, absently dragging her fingertips over the crisp parchment. “I don’t know. I’m mainly just drawing these to keep busy.”

In the short time that the girls had known each other, Sara gathered enough to piece together Beatrice’s daily routine, and knew for a fact that keeping busy was the last thing that was good for her.

Beatrice did everything in the house, and had been since her mother fell ill.

Sara could _feel_ how high-strung Beatrice was just by being in the same room as her.

When she reached for her quill, Sara took her hand.

“Do you ever just relax?” she asked her gently, letting go of her hand once Beatrice showed no sign of trying to grab it again.

Beatrice scoffed at the notion. She had given up the hope of ever getting to relax a long time ago. She didn’t get a moment of peace, even when she was trying to go to sleep at night because she used to share this room with her sisters Caroline and Olive as a younger teen. Eventually, though, her parents rewarded her for all of her hard work by giving her full ownership of the room. By then, Beatrice didn’t even know _how_ to enjoy peace and quiet anymore.

“Knock, knock.”

They looked up to see the twins standing in the doorway, either of them bearing a mug of hot black tea in their hands. Cecil the tattle-tale took the lead inside of the room and skipped over to Sara, kneeling down in front of her and holding out the cup for her to take.

“Here you are, beautiful.” he whispered with a wink, his cheeks bright red.

Sara bit back laughter and took the cup from him with a thankful nod of her head.

“I appreciate it.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes and took her own cup from the other twin; Frederick. Frederick was not amused by his brother’s advances on their guest and reached his arm out to punch him in the shoulder as he had earlier in the kitchen, for ratting them out.  

“ **Shut up** , Cecil, you’re like, eleven.” he spat bitterly. He pressed his hands against Cecil’s beaten up arm until he fell to the floor, and crouched down on one knee in front of Sara.

“I must apologize for my little brother’s foolishness…” he whispered in as deep a voice he could muster, taking Sara’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“WHAT! We’re the same age!” Cecil helplessly cried, kneeling next to Frederick and reaching for Sara’s other hand, forcing her to put the cup of tea down.

“I’m a whole ten minutes older, Cecil. You’re not man enough for her!”

“NINE AND A HALF MINUTES, ACTUALLY. AND _YOU’RE_ NOT A MAN, EITHER! **YOU STILL SLEEP WITH A STUFFED RABBIT!”**

Sara bit back giggles, her hands being shaken slightly as the twins quarreled over who was more fit to court her. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that she was already taken by a sheepish boy who was closer to being a gnome than he was to being a man.

“Get _OUUUUT_.” Beatrice squawked, waving her hands wildly to dismiss them.

They both flinched and prepared to oblige; they were on thin ice as it was and didn’t want to further test their sister’s patience.

Cecil bowed animatedly to Sara, still holding her hand. He had a few more words to say to her that would truly show her what a catch he was, but didn’t get to make them known before a mini-barrage of pillows hit him in the face, back, and legs, courtesy of both Beatrice and Frederick, who resolved to finding a new way of hurting his brother since he had become numb to arm-punching.  

“Alright, geez!” Cecil groaned, spitting a feather out of his mouth ungracefully. He blushed and glanced down into Sara’s eyes with a melodramatic look of pain in his own. “We will meet again, my love.” 

He loosened his grip on her hand and let it fall slowly from his grasp as he took baby steps away from her.

“Alright. See ya.” Sara waved, reaching for her tea cup.

Beatrice locked the door when they left because if she knew anything about her brothers, it was that they didn’t understand where they weren’t welcome and that they’d be back again in oh... about five minutes, ten minutes tops.

She reclaimed her seat next to Sara and sipped at her tea, holding the cup to her face and enjoying the way the steam kissed her skin. Sara did the same, leaning back against the bed and remembering that she was still very tired despite the impromptu nap she’d taken an hour ago.

“I always wanted siblings.” Sara murmured, removing one of her hands from the porcelain cup when it became too warm for comfort.

She raked her fingers through her messy hair, grimacing as the curls returned with a vengeance the longer she went without straightening it. But she sincerely doubted any such tool would be in a house like this.

“Trust me, you _don’t_ want them. _I_ never wanted them, and I still don’t.” Beatrice sighed, letting her head roll to the side to meet her guest’s gaze. She couldn't help but be bitter. If she had been a boy when she was born, she'd have half the number of siblings as she has now. “If you still want some, you can take mine. Louise especially. She gets on my last nerve…”

“I’m surprised you even have any nerves left.” Sara whispered casually, sipping her tea.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beatrice spat, looking at Sara with an arched brow.

“Well, you seem like you’re always angry about something or other. Like, by now, all of your nerves should have burned from how hot your blood is.” Sara grinned meekly, finger tracing the outline of the intricate painting of a bluebird on the side of her cup.

“You’d be the same way if you had the life I do.” Beatrice hissed, biting her tongue.

Sara looked away from Beatrice and down at her reflection in her tea.

She hated every second that she spent drinking the cup’s bitter contents, but it was nice and warm, and it would have been rude to decline it. She set her cup to the side and accepted her invitation into the bed, crawling onto the mattress and sitting at the edge of it while she pried off her dirty shoes, setting them a respectable distance away from the rug so as not to soil it.

“I hope one day, you’ll be able to calm down a little, Beatrice. You deserve to be happy and relaxed. You’re a good person.” she whispered sweetly.

She was sure Beatrice had a hard life, and that she was stressed at the moment. But Sara truly wished that she wasn’t this miserable all the time, and that with the return of her father, she’d lighten up, for the sake of her own well-being.

Beatrice was taken aback by the proclamation.

Sara draped a thick quilt over her head and flopped backward onto the mattress. It was the most comfortable thing she’d ever had the privilege of laying on, cushioned by layers upon layers of hand-made comforters and adorned with a pile of soft, feathery pillows at the head, foot, and right side of it.

Sara’s words still echoed through Beatrice’s mind long after she’d cocooned herself in her bed.

“How do you know if I’m a good person or not?” Beatrice asked, turning around and facing the lump of blankets that was Sara. She leaned her elbow on the bed and rested her chin in her hand, waiting for the other girl to emerge. “You’ve only known me for a few hours, and you weren’t even awake for most of them.”

Sara thought about it for a while.

“If you weren’t a good person, you wouldn’t have taken care of me. You fed me and let me lay in your bed… and I assume you're the one who fixed up my legs.”

Though Sara’s voice was muffled by the blankets, Beatrice could clearly hear every word of what she was saying.

“Fair enough.” she murmured with a shrug of her shoulders. 

...

Sara felt herself drifting off again.

When she did fall asleep, Beatrice did not disturb her and instead laid down on her floor in front of her parchment to put the finishing touches on her map of the woods. Cecil and Frederick did, indeed, come back to the door right on cue and furiously jiggled the bronze handle, pounding on the surface of the wood until she opened the door and yelled at them to go away.

But they persisted, returning time after time throughout the day to check on Sara, nearly waking her each time with their loud debates over why one or the other should get to be with her.

Night fell, and for what must have been the dozenth time that day, the twins tried to rip the handle out of the door to get inside of their sister’s bedroom. Beatrice had had enough.

Opening the door with one hand, she brought the other swiftly to Frederick’s abdomen, her balled fist sending ripples through his pasty skin. She wasted no time in retracting it and thrusting it into Cecil’s stomach, too, and witnessed an identical reaction to Frederick’s.

“O-oh… she’s… sleeping.” Cecil coughed, hunched over as pain throbbed in his gut.

“I j-j-just came to t-tell you something! You jerk!” Frederick howled in agony, falling onto his knees. 

Beatrice mentally apologized to Fred, because she knew the momentum gathered from punching Cecil made her assault on him all the more powerful. Normally, she would have slammed the door in their faces, but Frederick’s words seemed genuine and she felt good about them.

“Tell me what?” she asked him, arms crossed over her chest while she pretended that her knuckles weren’t burning from the punches she’d just inflicted on them.

“D-dad’s home!” Fred threw his head back and rolled onto the floor, still helplessly holding his spastic stomach.

“No way…” Beatrice gasped, a bright grin tugging at her lips.

She brushed past her brothers and nearly tumbled down the steps to see her father Charles standing at the foot of them, a toothy smile on his face, and his arms already outstretched for his daughter to run into.

“Beatrice! Guess what!?” he exclaimed cheerily.

“DAD! What, what is it!?” Beatrice closed her eyes and fell into her father’s arms, squeezing him tightly. Over his shoulder, she could see her mother sitting on the sofa, looking pleased for the first time since he’d left. Beatrice smiled at her as she rubbed her father’s back.

“I went off-track while I was going to the city, because of the storm earlier in the week…” the man began, pulling his daughter away at an arm’s distance and meeting her gaze. His own was laden with pride and adoration. “…but luckily I had one of your maps with me. I was able to find my way back home because of it!”

Beatrice beamed with happiness, her chest feeling tight. Her maps were the reason her father came home? And to think, he may have never returned had he not had it on-hand, or he would have at least stayed gone long enough for everyone in the family to assume he was dead. She imagined how awkward it would be if he stumbled in on a funeral service they were having for him in the backyard.

“The bad news is that I had to come back on foot. I was robbed! He took everything!” Charles chortled in good nature, fondly recalling the stubby, masked man who had held a knife against his neck and eased him out of his wagon. He was quite pleased that he’d be able to add this to his list of reasons as to why it was a terrible idea for them to move into the city, to use as points in one of his nightly debates with his wife Molly, who insisted they needed to in order to put the kids through formal schooling.

Had Beatrice been unaware of the ongoing battle between her mother and father, she would have been confused by how happy Charles sounded at having been the victim of such a devastating crime.

“But, there’s more good news! I stumbled upon this delightful little farm town just before I arrived, and they supplied me with enough vegetables to last a week!” Charles clapped his hands in delight, recounting his time spent surrounded by swarms of dancing people in the guise of pumpkins. It initially felt like some sort of ale-induced dream, so naturally, he joined in until he realized he was indeed awake and needed to get home to his family. “I believe you put its name on the map… Pansfield, was it?”

“Sure, dad. Pansfield.” Beatrice laughed and rolled her eyes.

“We must go there together someday!” Charles declared.

He led Beatrice to the kitchen, where the rest of her siblings had already gathered for more tea and some bread leftover from their brunch that afternoon.  Her mother and brothers Edward and Charles Junior occupied what few chairs were at the table, while the rest of the children sat in various spots on the floor and the countertops. Charles took his seat next to Molly and reached for his tea cup, motioning for his eldest daughter to join him at his side, but Beatrice had already taken off back up the stairs when she noted the absence of the twins from the family gathering.

Holding up the skirt of her dress so she wouldn’t stumble again, Beatrice ran down the second floor corridor and into her bedroom, where she found Sara awake, looking dazed and confused as Cecil held her hand and whispered every flirtatious thing he’d ever heard into her ear. Frederick sat on the floor, holding one of Sara’s shoes, utterly perplexed by the strange symbol on the side of it.

“Who’s Chuck Taylor?” he murmured, his eyes wandering about the room before they landed on Sara.

He did a double-take when they caught his sister standing in the doorway, arms crossed and face twisted into malcontent.

Sara rubbed her eyes with her free hand, groaning groggily as she tried to readjust to the waking world. She had hoped for a moment that she’d be in her own bedroom, and that the experiences she’d had thus far in the woods were just a dream, but that was merely wishful thinking. She was still very much lost, and without a clue as to how she’d get home.

“He’s a… basketball player.”

She look down at Frederick, uneasy as he inspected her shoe. She gently took it from him and pulled her hand away from Cecil to put it back on.

“Wait… are you leaving already!?” Cecil whimpered as he watched Sara tie her shoelaces.

“What? Leaving? Before you tell us about basketball!?” Frederick asked just as sadly, reluctantly handing Sara her other shoe.

Beatrice seemed just as surprised that Sara was ready to leave so soon, after only having rested a few hours. She couldn’t have been back to health already. Before she could advise Sara against leaving, Beatrice felt a tug on her dress.

“Already?” Louise inquired, still pulling her sister’s skirt. “But dad wants to meet her! I told him how weird she was… you know how he loves weird people!”

“I’m sorry… I have to go, though. I have to get home.” Sara smiled sympathetically at the twins. She didn’t know how she managed to steal their hearts considering she hardly spoke to them her entire stay at the Mill, but nonetheless, planned to let them down gently because she couldn’t very well leave them with false hope. “I have boy that I love a lot to get home to.”

Sara’s smile brightened when Wirt appeared in her mind.

Yeah.

If nothing else, she owed it to him to get home safely.

Frederick and Cecil gasped in unison, becoming crestfallen at Wirt’s existence.

“NO! WHY!?” Cecil shrieked, making Sara jump up from the bed with surprise and making Beatrice and Louise cover their ears.

“I’LL **FIGHT** HIM FOR YOU! I DON’T EVEN CARE!” Frederick declared, punching his own hand.

The walk to the front door was met with fierce resistance from the twins and Louise alike. The trio practically clung to her legs as she made her way down the steps, Beatrice following suit, still burdened with a nagging feeling that letting Sara go back into the woods was a terrible mistake.

Despite her obstacles, Sara found herself in the doorway of the home, looking out into the moonlit yard, where Mack peacefully napped.

“You know you’re welcome to stay a little longer.” Beatrice told Sara. Or rather, she yelled this into Sara’s ear so she could hear her over the sound of the love struck twins’ sobs.

“Th-thank you, but I should go. I feel a lot better.” Sara flinched as the other’s scream pierced her eardrum.

She drowned out the sounds of the pandemonium and smiled at Beatrice for a few long moments, her gaze tender with gratitude.

She couldn’t resist embracing her.

The older girl remained stiff as a board for the entirety of their hug, but Sara didn’t mind. She was used to Wirt getting stiff when she hugged him, too. Maybe Beatrice was just reluctant toward affection. If she truly didn’t care for it, she would have pushed Sara away immediately.

“I really do appreciate it, Beatrice.” Sara admiringly whispered as she pulled away from the hug. “Remember what I said, okay?”

“Yeah. Whatever…” Beatrice grinned, playfully punching Sara’s arm. “Be careful out there.”

“I will. Bye, Bea!” Sara waved, freeing either of her legs from Fred and Cecil’s grasps. “Bye, you two!” she called over her shoulder.

They watched Sara playfully skip her way across the stream and disappear into the woods, accepting that they’d probably never see her again, just like so many travelers they had taken in in the past. Questions remained unanswered, but they’d be happy to devise their own tales behind Sara’s alien clothing and mysterious backstory. 

“Kids! Come get your bread before it gets cold!” Molly called to them from the kitchen, holding up a plate with three buttery rolls on it to sway them into obedience.

The twins sulked as they followed Louise to the dining room table and fell into an argument over who should steal Beatrice’s spot while she wasn’t looking. Beatrice sat down in front of the fire again, where she had tea with Sara earlier, reminiscing on the short time they spent together, and contemplating why she still felt Sara was never supposed to leave the Mill.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a photograph near the sofa. Oh yeah. Sara’s satchel! She had left it here. It sat idly, where it would likely stay forever unless Beatrice decided to run after Sara and bring it back to her. But it was plain, and had only contained the dress, so she figured it wasn’t of grave importance. She reached for the picture and squinted her eyes as she tried to make out the faces in it.

“Creepy…” she murmured. Why would Sara be carrying around a picture of two boys sleeping?

...

But these weren’t just any two boys, were they?

“Oh my god…” Beatrice gasped, her chest tightening with giddiness. She’d know those ugly, haphazard bangs and those big old ears from anywhere. The button nose was familiar and beloved, as were the bug eyes, even if they were closed. There was no mistaking these kids for the ones she loved so much, that changed her forever the last time they’d been together.

Beatrice was good at holding in tears. But she felt especially vulnerable when it came to Wirt and Greg and her talents were wasted as they flooded down her cheeks.

**Wirt and Greg.**

Sara knew Wirt and Greg.

Sara.

_Sara._

_Wirt’s_ Sara. His too-secret secret. The girl he really liked.

The memory of their conversation at the Endicott manor was fuzzy, but still there. _That_ was the place she’d first heard the name. _That_ was the reason why she felt something akin to pain and worry when Sara had insisted on leaving. She wasn’t _supposed_ to leave the Mill. She was never even supposed to come to it.

“Aw, geez.” Beatrice sniffled, rubbing her tears away with her arm and gathering herself to her feet, still gripping the photo fiercely and holding it over her heart. She didn’t know Wirt was the boy Sara said she loved. If she had known, she would have never let her leave until she remembered how she got here.

She had to get her back.

She had to get her home. It was the least she could do for Wirt after all he did for her.

Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she ran outside, nearly falling over her sleeping puppy in her frenzy. She screamed out Sara’s name as loudly as she could, her eyes shifting back and forth from the clearing to the water. Just before she could run through the stream, Louise and their father, who had followed after her, grabbed either of her arms to stop her. Beatrice shook her head and tried to break free, still calling out Sara’s name.

“I **have** to find her!” she cried breathlessly, managing to get her arm out of Louise’s grasp, but her father’s grip was unyielding.

“Beatrice. I told you you’re never permitted to leave alone again, not after the bird incident!” Charles stated sternly to his hysterical daughter. 

“No, you have to let me! You have to trust me!” Beatrice spluttered. “I have to get her home!”

“But why?” Louise asked, stepping back so as not to be in the line of fire when Beatrice started kicking. “She seems like she knows where she’s going…”

“NO! She _doesn’t!_ I have to do it! For him!” Beatrice retorted, still intent on running after Sara. 

“For _who_ , darling?” Charles asked, worry evident in his tone. The person behind her desperation must have been severely important to her if she was willing to risk her life for them. 

“For _Wirt!_ ” Beatrice sighed, managing to wriggle her arm free at last.

She ran into the stream without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really long chapter, but it was an opportunity to delve in Beatrice's family life that I wasn't about to pass up. This has been my absolute favorite to write so far. Sorry it was a bit late! I'm going to try to post chapter 4 before 2016!


	4. Spelling Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara, Louise, and some animal kids learn a thing or two about life from Beatrice.

Over the stream lay trees clad in chill dewdrops, hardened mud littered with crumpled leaves, and her own footprints; the same cold, desolate woods that Sara had seen before- the ones she had come to accept as her home away from home.

Eerie moonlight cascaded over the tree trunks, illuminating the bits of bark clinging to their undersides. If Sara had been a skeptic of the woods being other-worldly before, the fact that not a single insect could be seen anywhere would have made her a believer now. The shadows of lost souls seemed to dance in circles about the trees, whose twisted branches curled in such a way that was reminiscent of hands reaching frantically toward the stars. Sara’s eyes must have been deceiving her, because surely the knots in the wood couldn’t have been showing her the pained expressions of people being tortured by an unseen evil.

_I really could have picked a better time to leave._

She shivered, as though it would rid her of the paranoia that plagued her being and made her footsteps hesitant.

Those frolicking silhouettes seemed to mock her and the skittish way she stumbled through their territory, because when she had first arrived, she had been quite the opposite (but they showed her, didn’t they?). Menacingly, they quickened their pace, filling the air with cackles, and sending Sara’s already panicked mind into an anxious frenzy.

For a moment- in denial that they could be malicious spirits- she reasoned that the shadows must have belonged to a witch-hunting cult akin to the one she'd encountered previously.

Seeing a deranged lunatic with an axe waiting for her around the corner was the last thing Sara would have hoped for, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling that it was what awaited her. The dress that Lorna sewed for her to save her from their judgments had been left at the Mill. Sara felt waves of relief wash over her; this was her excuse to gracefully return, without any indication that she'd be doing so out of fear! 

_Sara!_

…                                                                                                    

“Beatrice!?” Sara sharply turned her head, hoping to see the figure of her friend waiting to take her back to the safety of the Mill.

But she beheld the trees, the bushes, and the strange lack of life in the air as her only company.

Maybe she was so desperate to go back to the Mill that she had  _imagined_  the voice… but she certainly couldn’t have been able to hear from where she stood, at least a mile and a half from where she started, if Beatrice had been calling her.

Crestfallen, Sara fought tears and willed herself onward.

Something sinister was making its way through these trees right alongside her, whether or not the veil of worldly ignorance could be lifted from her eyes long enough to see it. She didn't know much of anything about the forest, but one thing was certain; bravery was her only saving grace.

Blinded courage.

Dumb luck.

Because logic never saved a man from that which defies it. 

Sara closed her eyes, in search of the inner peace that was responsible for her usual nature of unflinching calmness. Crickets chirping drowned out her thoughts, but she was able to resurface them after careful concentration.

Her mother's soothing voice was what she finally found. 

_“You have to be strong for the both of us.”_

The words sounded sweet coming from between the woman’s plump red lips, and felt just as soothing as did the warmth of her skin to Sara’s aching heart. It quelled the sadness she didn’t know was plaguing her and uplifted her dampened spirits.

She played her mother’s words on repeat in her mind, staying true to their message to keep panic at bay.

The night would no longer disturb her, and neither would the moon.

In her haze, she had mistaken the lonely celestial being as something worthy of being feared, but in her right state of mind, she knew better than that. The moon was so utterly alone, and only drifting further away from the earth with each rotation.

And who was she to curse it for only casting light on what was directly beneath it? 

It was doing its best.

Sara could truly empathize.

“Art thou pale for weariness?” she began in a whisper, her brows furrowing in worry for the poor moon’s well-being.

It was so hard to be everyone's rock, wasn't it? Always having to be the one to stay grounded while gravity failed and sent all others flying…

Maybe _she_ wanted the chance to fly, too. It wasn't fair to let the burdens of reality fall upon one pair of shoulders. And nearly every other planet in the solar system has at least one other moon to share its duties with! 

“… of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless…” Sara tapped her fingers on her chin.

The following lines of the poem evaded her until she shut her eyes again and found herself sitting under the pear tree behind Wirt's house.

As pale green leaves fluttered in the breeze around them, and golden sunshine bathed them in summer somnolence, Sara still found it all mediocre in comparison to Wirt's majesty whenever he became invested in a poem. She watched his lips move, his face twisting into an expression of sympathy as he told the tale of the moon's struggles.

Sara mimicked his expression both in the memory and as she recounted it.

“A-mong the stars that have a different birth,"

She paused and smiled brightly.

A pear had fallen from the tree at that moment, and she scared Wirt half to death as she lunged at him so she could catch it before it took his eye out…

 "...and ever-changing like a joyless eye, that finds no object worth its constancy.“ but the smile fell from her face as soon as she opened her eyes and the memory faded away into the darkness of dawn. She reminisced the time they spent together, and wondered if she would ever get to see Wirt again. 

She had become entirely too engrossed in her feelings. The thick tree branch obscuring her path went unnoticed until she tripped over it. Flying forward after fumbling helplessly in the air, she scrambled for something to grab onto, but only delayed inevitably having her face shoved into the cold earth. It couldn't have been a day since she last found herself pressed into the mud, Sara thought sorely as she picked grains from behind her puffy eyelids. 

She dizzily gathered herself to her feet and squinted, prepared to have to search through the trees for what lay before her.

But she was pleasantly surprised by the unadulterated picture of a small wooden structure, its red and white paint not unlike that of the chapel’s she had painted for the Doctor. The golden bell that hung above the front door swayed gently, chiming ever-so-faintly due to the tender ministrations of the wind.

The moon began its descent from the stage in the sky, making way for its more beloved main act. Yellow rays appeared over the horizon on her left, while the darkness of the night continued to recede to her right.

She felt closer to the moon after this night. The relief she felt from seeing the sun again was short lived as she found herself longing to keep it company, and show it that she wasn’t like those fickle stars that couldn’t appreciate its beauty.

The half-opened doors of the schoolhouse invitingly crept open wider with each step she took toward it, so Sara allowed herself in to assuage her pangs of curiosity. She hesitated just outside of the door, however, stirrings of anxiety in her gut. But that was silly; it was a respectable building, and couldn't have anything dangerous inside.

With a deep breath, she finally leaned forward and looked around, her feet following behind her.

The ceiling was trimmed with the letters of the alphabet, penned neatly in white ink. Below the border lay walls plastered with maps that looked good enough to have been crafted by Beatrice. Directly at the front of the room, past rows of neatly arranged desks, lay a green chalkboard with a saying inscribed upon it that Sara had to squint her eyes to read.  
  
“When the bell has rung, class has begun…”

_So… it’s a school?_

The room looked like it was derived from a classic storybook that she and Wirt could read to Greg, complete with apples on the teacher’s desk and a dunce box to the left of it; the only thing missing was quirky students.

However, it was also reminiscent of a colonial museum exhibit she’d seen once on a school field trip. She contemplated whether or not she was simply dreaming about the picture book or if she truly was in the middle of the woods, and happened to stumble upon a preserved schoolhouse from the nineteenth century.

Whatever the case, she was safe from whatever sort of malcontent lurked in the woods for now, and planned to stay there until she could figure out just what was happening to her. She lumbered cautiously to the mahogany office desk in front of the chalkboard and sat on the stool behind it. It entertained her as well as rested her legs, because the more childish side of her had always wanted to play teacher…

…though, sitting and staring at the doors and empty desks was only fun for so long; she had nobody to teach. 

And it seemed that the more she thought about life before this dream- or life before she got lost- the more that she  _forgot_  about it. She remembered feeling upset about the way that her friends were treating her… but it was only a few of them.

What were their names?

What was the name of her  _school?_

She saw faces and school hallways lined with maroon and white lockers, scarce of life. She smelled dirty mats on the floors of the gymnasium, and heard screams and gasps for air as her friends wrestled on it.  She could see the pendant hanging on her bedroom door with the letters ‘A’ and ‘R’ on it, and she could see Wirt’s marching band hat with an outrageously muscular bee on the front of it.

Still, the meaning of it all evaded her.

Maybe  _that_ life was the life that she had dreamt of…

After a few minutes, Sara decided she didn’t want to think anymore, for fear that overusing her critical thinking skills would leave her in a compromising position later on. She resolved to crudely scribbling the moon on the chalkboard and repeating the words of the poem to herself. She wished Wirt was there to tell her more, because it was the only one she had memorized, but it wasn’t enough to properly express her sympathies.

Her doodle of the moon turned into a mural of the solar system before she even knew what was happening. She stood back to behold the sun and the moon having met at last, lovingly twirling each other about as Venus, Earth, and Mars looked on, overcome with adoration. The hateful stars dreaded every second that they acted as a stunning backdrop on the moon’s wedding day, and nothing more.

The piece of chalk fell from her hand as a jolt went through her body, born from being startled by the bell’s chimes.

As though on cue, the door beside the desk that Sara hadn’t cared to notice before opened.

Her hair flew about over her shoulder as she stared at it, as terrified as a deer in the headlights. Her gaze fell on the floor out of instinct, not daring to look up into the eyes of whoever's property she had trespassed on because she didn't want to spend the night in jail after her ordeal; she promised her mother that would never happen again.

But she didn't see the black or brown loafers of police officers.

Instead, there were pastel-colored mary janes. 

The sense of urgency Sara felt to find out where she was overwhelmed her. One pair of dressy shoes after the other came inside until the pattern was interrupted by... 

_HOOVES?_

Sara's lip quivered as she bit back a scream. She stumbled backward, clutching her chest when her suspicions were confirmed.

These _weren't_ cops.

They weren't even _children_. 

They were various animals, all wearing an assortment of Sunday school dresses and button-down shirts. But that wasn't possible! 

_I’m definitely dreaming._

Even though she knew that her brain was simply mulling over the events of Greg’s bedtime stories, Sara found the scene disorienting and more than mildly terrifying. In a state of panic, she ducked underneath the teacher’s desk and pulled the stool in front of her to keep herself hidden from the anthropomorphic woodland creatures.

The animal children steadily filled the room without any suspicions that an intruder was amongst them.

The sound of chairs creaking loudly as they were moved across the old wooden floors distracted Sara from the palpitations of her own frantic heart. Scared out of her wits, she merely sat there with her jaw hanging open, staring blankly up at the nightmare that was playing out before her.

“When the bell has rung, class has begun.” a cat chirped in a misty voice, holding up its paw and shaking it matter-of-factly. “That’s what Miss Langtree always said!”

_Oh my gosh it’s talking. It’s talking and I’m dreaming!_

Sara desperately slapped her face, eyes squeezed shut; she couldn’t bear to look at them anymore! The scene contradicted everything she knew about reality, about science, and about logic! Unbeknownst to her ordinarily level head, Sara was up to her knees in a crisis, and  _not_  the kind she _liked_ to be in that inspired philosophical discussions!

And yet, the world around her carried on peacefully.

A pig in a checkered cap moseyed inside and nearly caught sight of her cowering, but was thankfully too enamored by its own reflection in the tuba it carried over its shoulder to bother looking her way. A rabbit followed suit, skipping and humming nursery rhymes all the way to its desk and encouraging the goat in the sailor uniform to sing along (the sound of its voice was muffled by the chewed-up can in its mouth).

Sara continued to slap her face, but still, she lay captivated by this odd dream, that was so intensely discomforting it could only  _reasonably_  have been induced by cold medicine.

“UGH! Stop  _saying_  that!” a raccoon threw its arms up into the air, sounding bothered by the cat (who was quite literally a teacher’s pet). “Miss Langtree  _isn’t_ coming back, we  _already_  know how to talk, and coming to class is  **pointless**!”

The room, which would otherwise have been peaceful, erupted in pandemonium, all thanks to that rebellious raccoon. The cat gasped, putting its paws at either side of its head, its brown eyes widening.

“Don’t. You. _Dare_ say Miss Langtree isn’t coming back!”

The rabbit shook its head and covered the innocent goat child’s ears, so it wouldn’t be subject to such slander of their beloved teacher.

“Yeah! She’s just on her honeymoon. She’ll be back in no time.”

The pug sitting beside the cat turned to face the chalkboard, gazing wistfully upon the two plump apples lying on their teacher’s desk. If only Miss Langtree had stuck around long enough to eat them…

It moaned in sadness, invoking sorrow in the rest of its classmates. But while the room filled with sobs, the gray cat’s eyes remained dry and alert, detecting a strange presence nearby. 

“Hey… what’s that on the board?” its far-away voice inquired, making Sara flinch and pull her knees up to her chest.

“Huh? A bunch of circles?” the raccoon snarled. But its features softened when it followed the cat’s gaze to the board.

Sara’s art was apparently enough to pacify them.

Their arguments became a dull roar behind the louder voices of the cat and the raccoon, who had both assumed the role of the class president, and attempted to decipher the meaning of the piece.

After concluding that the moon doodle was actually a chocolate chip cookie floating in a tub of dirty water, they discussed who could have made the drawing. The cat and raccoon stood dangerously close to where Sara hid, taking roll and deciding that the animal called upon would declare either  _“yay”_  or  _“nay”_  after saying  _“here,”_  to scout out the secret sketch artist.

After listening to too many  _“nays”_  for them to properly keep track of, the cat-raccoon pair stood defeated.

For a moment, Sara thought she was in the clear- that the students would eventually get tired of trying to solve the mystery of the chalkboard cookie and go back from whence they came, enabling her to leave the room undetected. She released a breath she’d been holding onto and relaxed her muscles as she heard the padded footsteps of the raccoon retreat from in front of the teacher’s desk. The cat, however, stayed behind to wander about it in circles.

Halfway through its trot, the kitten spotted Sara.

“Excuse me?”

The human’s wave of relief was stunted.

She cupped her hands over her eyes and shook her head, holding out the hope that if she shook it hard enough, it would take her back to the Mill. But her brain was no pair of shimmering red slippers, and it certainly wasn’t magical, either.

“Hello?”

Sara slowly peeked through the cracks of her fingers to see the bright-eyed feline peering down at her.

After a silent moment of deliberation, a smile crept up onto its fluffy face. 

“Oh, you must be our substitute teacher!” it cheered, utterly delighted. It spun around in little circles, the pale yellow gown adorning its frame fluttering in the makeshift breeze and flashing Sara a glimpse of its tail. “We’ve been waiting ages for you to come along!”

Substitute teacher? For a group of animals?

“You’re talking, b-but… but, you’re a cat…!” Sara stammered, attempting to scoot away, only to find that she was already flush against the desk. “You’re not capable of cognizant speech!”

Sara bit her tongue. She was talking to a cat.

_Stop talking to the cat!_

“Wow, that’s a big word.” the cat clapped its puffy pink paws together, impressed by Sara’s vocabulary. “What does it mean? Oh, won’t you teach us? Teach us all the big words you know, Miss…” it hummed thoughtfully and tapped its sharp claws against the wall. “What is your name?” it finally inquired, a guilt-ridden smile gracing its curved lips, as though it should have known her name already.

“Oh! You probably signed your work…” the child turned to the board and scanned the drawing for a signature, only to shift its eyes back to Sara with furrowed brows when it found no such thing.

Sara was trapped beneath the cat’s expectant gaze.

There were many ways she could go about the situation, running away being the most  _reasonable_  thing to do. But she was dreaming. These were just Greg’s storybook characters, so the likelihood of them bringing her harm was slim to nothing. And she hadn’t entirely satisfied her inner child just by  _sitting_  at the teacher’s desk, no- she needed to actually  _teach_ something in order to be the real deal.

Now was her chance to truly play the part.

“Call me… Miss Fowler.” Sara smiled, wiping the sweat from her brow.

The cat took a step to the side to allow its new teacher to crawl from beneath the desk, in what it quite frankly thought was a barbarous manner. Sara brushed the dust off of her overalls and plucked a splinter from her thigh before turning to face the class. Most of the animals were watching intently, murmuring amongst themselves about the return of authority to the classroom after such a prolonged reign of autonomy.

“Okay. I guess, I’ll teach you this word, then.” Sara cleared her throat and scratched her head, feeling uneasy beneath all of the beady little eyes.

But she would adjust. She was the  _teacher_.

“Wonderful!” the cat clapped again before shuffling back to its desk, leaving Sara alone at the chalkboard.

She swiftly erased her mural, earning a few gasps from the class that was hanging on her every action and word. She took a deep breath in at the exact wrong time and felt the chalk in the back of her throat, her face turning red as she tried to keep from coughing while she wrote the term on the board.

“C-cognizant. C-O-G-N-I-Z-A-N-T.”  she growled huskily, beating against her chest. She really needed some water or something. “It means to be f-fully informed or conscious of something. For example, parrots can-“she paused momentarily, scanning the room to ensure no parrot children were mixed in with the bunch. “Parrots can repeat sounds and words but are not  _cognizant_  of it and usually don’t know what they mean.”

“Ooh… that’s such a nice word!” the cat encouraged her when the rest of its peers remained silent.

Sara shrugged her shoulders.

“I get it… words are boring. I’m more of a STEM person myself. There is a lot of other stuff I can teach you!” she offered, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I could give you a really brief introduction to calculus-based physics. Or maybe you guys would prefer biology? There’s also trigonometry and algebra. It’s whatever you guys want, you know.”

The kids were left in a stunned silence and awkward shuffling ensued before anyone dared to end it.

“Yeah, let’s take it back a notch, genius.” the raccoon barked. “We’ll stick with spelling words.”

Sara frowned, but said nothing more; she wasn’t about to get into it with a rodent.

She felt a gentle tug on her trousers and looked down to find the goat kid she’d seen enter the room earlier with a glass of water in tow.

“Oh, thank you…” she laughed sheepishly. “Alright, then. Suit yourselves.” she sighed after drinking the water and setting the cup down. She tapped the tiny piece of chalk against the glass as she wondered what word she could teach them next.

“Lost. L-O-S-T.”

“Huh?”

In the doorway had appeared those braided pigtails that Sara had seen before, only this time, they weren’t covered by a bonnet, and the dress she wore was a dulled magenta color. Sara’s body went lax in relief at long last, thankful that a friendly, very  _human_  face had finally come to keep her company on this strange journey of hers- if it  _wasn’t_ technically a dream.

“You know-- ‘cause you’re lost!” Louise chuckled, quite pleased with herself. She lumbered into the classroom, her heavy, leather-bound boots making the wood squeal with each step. “And we’re here to get you… not lost!”

It wasn’t long before Beatrice made herself known. As she entered the room, Sara stood from the stool and ran from around the desk, through the aisles of idle students, and into her arms. She squeezed her tightly and lifted her just slightly off of the ground, spinning her in her ecstatic stupor.

“YOU’RE HERE!” she cried all the while.

“PUT ME DOWN, NOW!” Beatrice wailed, her frame going stiff as a board. She was bright red from the neck up, and the color only intensified the longer she was trapped in the embrace. 

Sara eventually obliged, however, and set Beatrice down on the ground again. The older girl groaned and glared all she could, as though to tell Sara that was never okay to do again because it was embarrassing and uncomfortable. But Sara is a school mascot; she  _lives_  for embarrassing stuff.

“ _Two_ teachers?” the tuba pig exclaimed in exasperation, throwing its head back. Its pointed pink ears wilted like dying flowers. “That means we have to be in school for double the time, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not how time works, idiot. If time is even  _real_ , anyways.” the raccoon sneered.

It had been balling up a piece of paper, and promptly shoved it down the mouth of its classmate’s tuba. The pig howled in agony, rolling out of its desk chair with tears streaming down its leathery pink skin. 

Beatrice was not nearly as disgruntled by the whole fiasco as Sara had expected her to be.

Instead of doing a double-take and questioning her sanity upon seeing the animal kids, Beatrice merely waved her hand dismissively at them; after all, she’d seen them all before way back when, while Wirt and Greg were still her partners in crime…

 …she frowned at the memory.

“Oh no, don’t include me in this; I’m no teacher.” she corrected the pig, putting her hand on Sara’s shoulder. “And this girl? She isn’t your teacher, either. This is all just one  **big**  misunderstanding- I  _promise_.”

Her tone grew higher and higher pitched the closer she neared the end of her sentence, as though speaking this way would distract everyone from the fact that she was gently shoving Sara toward the door with one hand, and motioning for her little sister to follow along with the other.

Louise, cheeks filled to the brim with apple, shook her head and put her feet up on the desk, making herself at home on Miss Langtree’s throne.

And the animals were  _far_  too good at deductive reasoning; Miss Langtree had taught them well.

“Miss Fowler is  _too_  our teacher! We’ve been waiting for her ever since Miss Langtree left on her honeymoon with Jimmy Brown.” the well-mannered cat did not like what it was seeing and protested immediately.

Out of all of Sara’s new students, the cat was the last one that she would have expected to get so angry. It stood and took Sara’s hand, pulling her out of Beatrice’s grasp with a quick yank and leading her back to the chalkboard.

“They're right, Beatrice…” Sara began, allowing herself to be tossed back and forth between her friend and her student.

She had mentally committed to looking after them not ten minutes ago, and wasn’t going to go back on that promise so soon. She’d be leaving them with no adult to care for their needs, having learned nothing more than a single word that was hardly practical for everyday use.

And besides, Miss Langtree had already been missing for quite a while, hadn’t she? It was only a matter of time before she came back to them. Until then, Sara would fill her place. She didn’t know much about Beatrice and Louise, but was sure they wouldn’t just abandon her at the schoolhouse after coming back to get her.

 _Why_ did  _they come back for me, anyway?_

“What?” Beatrice’s sing-song tone fell flat, while her eyebrows arched sky-high. “You  _have_  to be kidding me, Sara. They’re animals. They don’t need to be in school! They need to be out there rolling in the mud and eating grass or something. No offense…” she held her hands up defensively when the pug looked especially hurt by her biting words... “This place is getting to you. The longer you stay here, the worse it’s going to be so just listen to me and let’s get you  _home_.”

Louise had finished the first apple. Crushing the core in her hand, she climbed on top of the desk and aimed the fruit’s remains at her buzz-kill of a sister. The bits of mushed apple landed on the skirt of Beatrice’s blue dress.

“Boo! Are you guys just gonna  _take_  that from her?” Louise frowned, pointing her juice-coated thumb down to the floor. “She’s the  **worst**! Put her in the dungeon!” she laughed, pointing to the dunce box and stomping her feet wildly on the desk.

“Yeah! I don’t like her attitude.” the cat agreed with Louise, nodding its head. It grinned, mischief written all over its face as it locked eyes with Sara, who was minding her own business and whistling just to prove how not involved in the conflict she was at all. “Miss Fowler! Give her a word to spell, and if she can’t spell it, let’s put her in the dunce box!”

“YEAH! Do it, Sara!” Louise echoed. “Make it a hard one!”

Beatrice slapped her forehead, dragging her hand down the side of her face and pulling down on her freckled cheek. 

“This is ridiculous. Let’s just—“ she began, only to have more apple mush thrown her direction. She flung the gushy fruit right back at Louise, who dodged it just before it could soil her favorite dress.

“Aw,  _Beatrice_ is just scared she’s going to get the word wrong.” Louise cooed, shaking her hips tauntingly. “She’s a terrible speller! That’s why she draws all the time and doesn’t write instead!”

Louise managed to get the other kids in on teasing her big sister. They hollered and pointed to the young woman standing in the back of the room, whose pasty skin grew brighter the more obnoxious their laughter became. She didn’t want to indulge in this stupid game any longer; the woods had a way of eating your time away, but if she knew anything about the girl with the bee on her sweater, it was that time was something she simply didn’t have.

She couldn’t very well convey this to her in this schoolhouse, though… begrudgingly, Beatrice came to the conclusion that cooperation was the quickest way to get her new friend back to the Mill, and hopefully back home shortly afterward.

“Okay you know what give me the word, Sara.” she crossed her arms over her chest, her lids heavy over her blue irises. “And you know what else? After I spell this word right, _I’m_  going to be the teacher.” she added hotly, through gritted teeth.

Sara paused briefly as Beatrice looked at her. Something about the other girl’s expression was off-putting, but it was hard to dwell on more serious matters like that when most everyone around you was giggling madly and waiting on you to play with them. She smiled absently, and watched as Beatrice offered her a half-hearted grin in return.

“How about  _”Machiavellian?”_  It means to be cunning and treacherous, mostly for your own advancement…”

Silence fell over the room after all had a few moments to process the difficult word.

Beatrice smirked. She was no stranger to the term and what it entailed. In fact, she used to exhibit it.

Despite its negative connotations, she held it close to her heart, to remind her of her past mistakes and will her to make better choices in the present and future.

“M-A-C-H-I-A-V-E-L-L-I-A-N.” she spat in one breath, making her way down the aisles once she’d finished, leaving gaping jaws in her wake.

She stood beside Sara and held her hand out, waiting patiently for her to hand over the chalk.

Once she had it, she wasted no time in writing her name across the board and turning to face the animal kids with a stern expression that made them fumble with their collars and the hems of their dresses.

“I am Miss Cunningham. You jokers have spent all this time learning nursery rhymes and having snacks, but I’m going to teach you what’s  _really_ important about life.” she smiled lifelessly and turned back to the board, writing something down- but halfway through, she snapped her head back to the kids and hissed, “Just remember that you asked for this.”

Sara took a seat next to Louise on top of the desk and watched Beatrice write down her lesson plans.

“First, you need to know that life is  _fleeting_. F-L-E-E-T-I-N-G. It’s here one moment, and gone the next.” Beatrice explained, stepping aside to unveil her tiny drawing of the cycle of life, beginning with infancy and ending in old age. “So we should take all of the time we have and make the most of it, because it will be over before we know it.” she sighed deeply as she said this.

The sudden sadness in her demeanor did not go undetected by Sara and Louise, who exchanged looks of apprehension.

“The second thing you need to know is that we are all  _astray_. A-S-T-R-A-Y. We don’t know where we’re going. We don’t really know anything at all, even when we think we do.” Beatrice narrowed her eyes and looked at Sara as she said this, but Sara was staring down at the stem of her apple, plucking off the tiny green leaf that protruded from it. “So we need to  _listen_ to  **other people**  and share knowledge so we can help each other get on the right path.”

Because Sara wasn’t paying attention, Beatrice coughed loudly to avert her gaze to the chalkboard, on which she had drawn a crude picture of Sara, on a winding road that eventually led to a traffic cone and a muffin with smiley faces on them. Sara bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, making Beatrice roll her eyes in irritation.

“Finally, realize that you are not  _liable_  for things that  _don’t_  concern you. L-I-A-B-L-E. Even if it looks bad and you’re  _able_ to help, sometimes it’s just  _not_ your problem to solve, and you need to walk away from it.”

Beatrice drew as quickly as she could on the board, the chalk against the hard surface making painful squeaking noises all the while. She stepped away to reveal a drawing of crying animals in a box, stemming from a curved line from where her Sara drawing was- in the opposite direction of the muffin-cone duo.

“Alright. Pop quiz.” Beatrice set her chalk down, satisfied that she gotten her point across to her companion. “Everyone spell those three words on a sheet of paper, and then give them to  _Louise_  when you’re done; she’ll grade them.”

“Aw, nuts.” Louise groaned, crossing her arms.  

Sara, however, was still confused. She kept a straight face as Beatrice erased her drawings and spelling words from the board and started pacing the aisles to ensure that nobody was cheating on their quiz. Beatrice suddenly groaned and pulled at her own hair, locks of the curly red mess tumbling out of her bun.

“Where did you get a  _“Q”_  from!? Why would any of these words have a  _“Q”_  in it!?” she mumbled as she leaned over the goat, snatching its pencil away and correcting the error herself.

It lowered its head in shame while the giraffe next to it laughed at its mistake. The short-tempered teacher frowned and looked at the giraffe’s paper, hands on her hips as she scoffed at it.

“Oh, and you’re  _so_  much better, right? That’s why you put a  _“U”_  in  _“Liable!”_

“Wait… so just to clarify, there is, indeed, no  _“U”_  in liable?” the raccoon asked, raising its hand.

Beatrice bit her tongue and tried not to scream as she shook her head.

Sara toyed with the scarlet letter on her suspenders nervously, wondering if she should fess up to not picking up on Beatrice’s euphemisms, but if she wanted to, Louise would have interrupted her.

“OH! I have a better idea! Let’s have a SPELLING BEE!”

The cat, who had become quick friends with her, stood from its desk and dropped its pencil like it was a hot piece of coal.

“That’s a GREAT idea! SPELL-ING BEE!”

“SPELL-ING BEE!”  

The two began to chant, standing on top of their respective desks and stomping in unison.

The raccoon, frustrated that its attempts at passing Miss Cunningham’s quiz had ended in flames, was the first to take part in the spelling bee movement alongside its masterminds. It climbed on top of its desk, as well, and threw its arms into the air.  

“SPELL-ING BEE! SPELL-ING BEE!’”

“ **STOOOOOP**  IT! WHO’S IN CHARGE HERE!?” Beatrice yelled over them, charging toward Louise, who was responsible for disrupting the peace in the first place.

She wrapped her arms around the girl’s frame and swept her off of the desk, proceeding to tuck her underneath her arm as though she were a piece of luggage. She cursed under her breath that Louise had even come along with her to retrieve Sara, but didn’t want to go against her parent’s wishes by taking off by herself. Louise took advantage of this and was the first to volunteer to go. Little red smiled deviously even after being constrained, because her plan was already being put into motion thanks to her cat accomplice.

“Miss Fowler is still the teacher, too! If she says, we’re going to do the spelling bee!” the raccoon protested, looking toward the cat. They joined in hands, setting aside their differences for the greater good, and for the promise of a world free of pop quizzes.

“ **SARA!**  TELL THEM  _“NO”_  RIGHT NOW SO WE CAN LEAVE!” Beatrice squawked, trapping her beneath her gaze.

Sara didn’t understand Beatrice’s sense of urgency. She didn’t comprehend the hidden messages in her spelling lesson, and she couldn’t properly decipher the meaning of her messy doodles. The kids just wanted to have some fun, and she truly felt they deserved it after having to go so long without proper attention from an adult. She smiled and looked off to the side. 

“I don’t see why we can’t have a quick contest…” she murmured casually.

“ _HOLY_ ROMAN EMPIRE—“ Beatrice trembled as the anger burst inside of her.

The children cheered, standing from their desks and leaving behind their pencils and papers as they fled the schoolhouse. They skipped through the grass and behind the building, where the stage on which they’d had their benefit concert all that time ago sat undisturbed by the likes of nature.

Back in the classroom, Louise was curtly dropped to the floor by Beatrice.

As soon as she hit the ground, she laughed and scurried out of the room, running after the cat and joining hands with it. They skipped happily round the building and to the stage to join the other children, who patiently waited for their teachers to act as the judges of the competition. The tuba pig began to play, and the goat and giraffe sang to keep busy and to keep spirits high.

“Beatrice, I don’t know why you’re acting like this… what is the harm-“

“Of course you don’t know! That’s why we came to get you! That’s why you need to listen to me and stop fooling around like this!” Beatrice sat down at a desk to catch her breath, holding her head in her shaking hands.

Sara sat down in the desk beside her, biting her fingertip as she tried to think of ways to console her. It was true that she was ignorant of why she was there, but she trusted the intuition that told her she was safe at the schoolhouse and that there was no need to rush out of there.

“I can’t just leave them here, though…”

“Why  _not_!? You didn’t even know they existed a couple hours ago, and they’ve been getting along just fine without you! They are  _not_  your burden to bear!”

“ **I KNOW** , OKAY!?”

Sara gasped, taken aback by her own outburst. She gripped tightly at her suspenders and tugged on them as she whispered an apology to Beatrice for raising her voice at her. “I… know, I know it’s not my place… but I can’t leave them. I just can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with it if I left them here.  **Nobody**  deserves to be alone…  _nobody!”_

Her voice trailed off and she felt the tears coming on.

She tried to blink them away, but still, her vision was obscured.

She then tried to wipe them away with the sleeve of her sweater, but the tears were so profuse that it didn’t help.

“Aw, come on. Why are  _you_  crying?  _You’re_  the one that just yelled at  _me_ , remember?” Beatrice sighed, almost whining at the sudden display of vulnerability. She stood from her own desk and wandered over to Sara’s side, leaning over her so she could wipe her tears away with the blue skirt of her dress. “Look. They’re not going to be alone, okay?”

Beatrice paused for a moment. She really didn’t want to do it.

Like, she could think of a billion things she would rather occupy her time with.

But in the moment, she felt that it was the only way to get Sara out of here.

_Do it for Wirt._

“I’m gonna take you back to the Mill and get you home. I promise that I’ll come back here and… I’ll be their teacher. Okay? Are you happy now? Can you  _please_  stop crying?”

Sara’s heart felt warmed by Beatrice’s promise to return as the permanent teacher of the animal kids. She nodded and smiled through her tears, standing and pulling the taller girl down into the third hug they’d shared in the short time they’d known each other.

Beatrice groaned, but still, she hugged back just as tightly, and a faint smile graced her lips, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared as they pulled away from each other.

Beatrice was ready to leave. But still, she and Sara left the school house with their arms locked together to host the spelling bee. She knew it was going to take forever, because those kids were terrible at spelling, and she was sure she was going to have nightmares about the papers she’d glanced over while she was monitoring the quiz.

But at least Sara had finally agreed to follow her.

She’d be getting her home at last and back where she belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPECIAL THANK YOU TO MYNT_II FOR THE GORGEOUS FANART SHE DID OF CHAPTER 1, PLEASE CHECK IT OUT ON TUMBLR IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY IT'S SO GOOD AND IT MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE AND IT IS ABSOLUTELY MY DESKTOP BG-> http://mynt-ii.tumblr.com/post/136056692631/some-art-for-a-fanfic-in-which-sara-gets-trapped
> 
> This chapter is really long and it definitely took forever, and I indulged myself in the details, but nonetheless, I hope you guys like it! And HAPPY NEW YEAR! MANIGONG BAGONG TAON! May you all get kissed at midnight and bang on pots and pans or whatever it is you guys do on New Years! As for me, I hope 2016 will be filled with more stories worthy of sharing with you all! 
> 
> -Belle ❤
> 
> PS: Do not be fooled by the end of this chapter. I'm barely halfway through B)  
> ALSO I did NOT write that poem, it's by Percy Shelley! I believe it is just called "The Moon!"


	5. Endicott and Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara and Beatrice become delivery girls.

Beatrice and Sara endured the spelling bee for the duration of the day. 

The younger of the duo was forced to put her conflict-resolution skills to work each time the raccoon wasn’t the victor in a face-off. The older one had to repeat multiple times to her sister Louise that no, she would _not_ be subtly mouthing the correct letters to her so she could be the winner of the contest.  

Eventually, the heartbroken tuba-pig put its love for Miss Langtree to good use, using it to prevail over all others in her honor. It remembered all of the grammar rules that she taught it, even if it took a while to jog it into its memory because it’d been so long since it last heard them. (“I” before “E” except after “C” helped it spell the word “Conceive” for the gold)

The swarm of animal kids- excluding the good-natured goat and rabbit- booed and shouted at the lone swine as it made its way off of the stage and down to the makeshift judge’s table where its two teachers were seated.

“Quit being such sore losers!” Miss Cunningham growled in warning at them. “We don’t even _have_ any prizes! What do you think you’re missing out on?”

But unfortunately, declaring that there was no reward for their efforts made the children even _more_ riled up.

They had done it all for _nothing!_

“Oh I **knew** this was stupid! I liked it better when we were by ourselves!” the raccoon spat sourly, taking the cap off of its head and throwing it to the ground to stomp on it.

“No prize?” the pig asked, its swollen heart lurching.

Sara frowned at the poor pig as the smile fell from its leathery face. Its ears drooped, and its tail somehow uncurled itself and fell flatly behind it. Even the glimmer of sunshine reflecting off of its instrument seemed to lose some of its luster as its owner’s happiness plummeted.

She couldn’t stand to see the animal so sad. It deserved a more fulfilling victory, and a token of it, too, for a boost of confidence every now and again to make it smile even while its more brash classmates tormented it.

“Wait… what about this?” Sara asked hopefully, padding her hands up and down her suspenders until she felt the jewels encrusted to her bright red badge. 

She plucked it off in a single, fluid motion, and held it out for the pig to take between its hooves.

“Gee golly, Miss Fowler!” it began in a hush-tone, wide-eyed. “If this isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen…”

Sara smiled, standing from her seat and walking to the pig’s side so she could button it to its shirt, considering it wouldn’t have been able to do so without fingers.

“What does the “A” stand for?”

“Hm. How about _“Amazing?”_

A gentle gasp escaped from between the pig’s lips before they curled into a bashful grin, barely visible from beneath its snout. It pressed its paws against its cheeks and looked away, heart beating wildly in its chest.

“I’m… amazing?” it murmured, looking briefly back to Sara for reassurance.

“Heck yeah you are!” she cheered, patting its back.

With new-found pride, the pig toddled back to take its spot in the line of children being led to the schoolhouse, headed by the Cunningham sisters. The eldest tapped the forehead of every kid that passed over the threshold while Louise stood on the opposite side of the door to double-check.

Sara tried to follow after them, but as soon as she took a step forward, they threw up their arms and screeched incoherently until she ceased.

“NO! Stay there!” Louise cried, hopping from side to side.

“What? Why?” Sara asked, her shoulders going stiff as a frown settled on her lips.

She met eyes with Beatrice, who sneered at her and waggled an accusatory finger in her direction.

“You’re staying there before you find another reason not to go home!”

Sara’s frown intensified, but she did as she was told.

Every so often, one of the kids would turn around to wave goodbye to her or thank her for a good time and the bit of knowledge she had shared with them during her short visit. It seemed, though, that the happy face she forced when they looked her way was not convincing enough for them, and the smiles on their lips fell to mimic the pout on her own before they disappeared into the classroom.

_Home._

Sara shut her eyes. She didn’t think she could handle another goodbye from one of her students, nor could she stand to feel the waves of chilly water wash over her as she stared into Beatrice’s blue irises. It was beyond her how she felt so uncomfortable at the prospect of going back from whence she came.

The vague image of a house void of life appeared in her introspection.

She was then greeted by the more pristine picture of a dark living room, with only one window open, in front of her father’s mini-memorial.

She remembered making it. She had gone to her mother in tears in the middle of the night, because she lied awake and tried all she could to remember her father’s face and the sound of his voice, but came up short. Her heart ached so badly she couldn’t get to sleep, so they stayed up until the dawn, setting it up with his favorite flowers and the “mug” Sara had made him for father’s day when she was in kindergarten. All the while, they both cried, because they wished that some of his remains were around to put in an urn, if not enough to bury in a cemetery.

But space had not spared them a trace of his existence.

What was left of Sara’s father were his belongings, and the memories that were too foggy for her to properly play out when she found herself missing the sounds of his hearty laughter or the warmth of his skin.

Warmth. 

His blue jacket flashed before her eyes.

Her mother gave it to her, because she saved it and never washed it after he died. It hung dormant in a closet for years, until she decided to give it to the daughter that never properly mourned the loss of her husband.

Sara recalled putting it on for the first time, and breathing in a scent she thought she’d never smell again. She silently swore that she’d wear it every day, because it brought back the times she thought she’d missed out on. It was as though when she wore it, she could hear his laugh again. It was like one of his all-too-frequent bear hugs, but this one would never have to end if she didn’t want it to. And through it all, Sara felt like she was carrying the spirit of her father in herself by wearing his jacket, and by pursuing a career toward the stars just like him. After all, he wouldn't have wanted his accident to steer Sara away from the majesty of space.

Shaking her head, she opened her eyes and swiped at her tears before they could fall.

Home always made her feel this way, didn’t it? That’s why she chose to be there as little as possible. That’s why she was in so many clubs and at the dance studio or at Wirt’s house.

She felt cold, and somewhat annoyed because she thought she wouldn’t feel that way if she didn’t look at Beatrice.

No. Even as she stood directly underneath the afternoon sun, engulfed in a good amount of heat, her body was racked with shivers.

She wished that before she came to the woods, she had remembered her jacket.

Maybe she would feel less uneasy if she had it.

If it could help her remember her father, maybe it would make it easier for her to recount what she had been doing before she woke up there.

No. She didn’t want to go back to that quiet, gloomy place that she was meant to call her home. It had been especially lonely lately. Not even the bright colors of the furniture, the floral wallpaper in the hallways, the happy family portraits, and her space rock collection could make it more inviting.

Her stomach churned.

_I’m not ready._

She struggled to calm her heart as it beat a little too fast.

Beatrice was still inside of the classroom rounding up the children, and giving Louise very specific instructions on how to look after them while she took Sara home. She’d return to “teach” them later, as she had promised, but she still prayed that Miss Langtree would turn up in the meantime.

The point was that Beatrice was busy.

If Sara wanted to run away, she could.

It was a terrible idea, because Sara was clearly no navigator and had come close to death more times than an average person came in their entire life since she started her trek. However, could her survival skills really be _that_ bad if she managed to pull through all of them, relatively unscathed?

She saved Archie’s life, too.

Maybe she was better off than she was being led to believe…

“Hey. By any chance, do you happen to know which way the Harbor is?” someone shouted from quite a few feet behind where Sara stood.

She peered over her shoulder, ready to apologize to whoever the stranger was. She hoped it was Miss Langtree and her husband Jimmy Brown.

Though at the same time she didn’t, because Beatrice had expressed her frustrations with the fact that they abandoned their students and that she’d _love_ to have a word or two with them when they finally decided to return (all while punching her own hand and gritting her teeth).

What she saw was neither a teacher nor her partner, nor _anyone_ that she could have expected.

There stood a horse, with a shiny grey coat and a large stack of crates tied to its back. Its tongue stuck out from between its crooked, yellowed teeth as it panted heavily.

“Oh.” Sara breathed. She realized then that after the day she had just had, it was very wrong of her to expect the owner of the voice to be her same species. “You’re a horse.”

“You don’t say?” the tired animal sarcastically retorted. “And wouldn’t you know it, I have a name, too. It’s Fred.”

“Fred.” Sara murmured absently, her eyes shifting back and forth from his lips to the cream colored coat that draped down over his sides. She examined the cloth’s details, noting an emblem of some sort.

“Harbor? Directions, maybe?” Fred grunted, off-put by Sara’s scrutiny.

He shuffled slightly, his tired legs wobbling. He didn’t think he could stand much longer after walking miles upon miles with ten tons of junk on his back. He had insisted that he not wear a saddle, considering nobody would be riding him on his journey, and yet, there was no other way to keep his coat in place to advertise the company, forcing him to grin and bear the extra weight.

“No, sorry. I’m not from around here…” Sara shrugged, tucking her hands into her pockets.

“Figures.” the horse melodramatically groaned, collapsing onto the ground at long last and startling his human friend.

Cracks in the wood of the crates cried as they slid off of the horse’s stiff back and to the side in the damp grass. One tipped over, unveiling dozens of smaller, navy blue cartridges inside, trimmed with silver to mimic the colors of the company’s emblem.

When one landed by Sara’s shoe, she knelt down and reached for it.

“What is it? Can I open it?” she asked, turning it over it her hands.

“Go for it; it’s just tea.”

But Sara clicked it open to sate her curiosity, even if tea leaves were all that awaited her. The powerful scent of cinnamon and spoiled fruit immediately attacked her nostrils, making them burn.

“Oh my gosh- this is terrible!” she coughed, her throat feeling tight.

Tears welled up in her eyes at how pungent the odor was. She threw it to the side to breathe in fresh air again before she even got the chance to examine the box’s contents.

“You got that right. Makes me wonder how anybody buys it.” Fred agreed, but Sara could hardly hear him over the sound of her own dry heaving.

She used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe her eyes. Within a few moments, the stench had been lifted from the air around her, and her lungs were filled with the fresh scent of the damp earth. Her eyes wandered back to the poor, tired horse, and the cartons of tea surrounding him.

Pangs of sympathy radiated through Sara’s chest.

She was secretly glad that this time, they weren’t for herself.

“How long have you been looking for it?” she asked, crawling over to Fred and patting his head.

 “All day today and yesterday. Can’t seem to find the place, and now I can’t seem to find my way back to headquarters, either.”

Sara sifted through her thoughts for all but ten seconds before she made up her mind.

“I don’t know where it is, but I’d be happy to help you find it.” she began, pulling her hand away from Fred’s head and reaching instead for one of the crates.

It couldn’t have been more than twenty pounds. Sara bet her backpack weighed more than that with all of the textbooks she had to haul around every day at school.

Smiling, she looked down into Fred’s tired eyes.

“I could help you carry these, too.”

“I guess some company would be nice.” he declared with a relieved smile after a moment of pause.

Fred gathered himself to stand, thankful as the weight of two, then three crates were taken from his tender shoulders.

Sara found herself contemplating the mission she’d just volunteered to do, and the repercussions it would have. Beatrice had been adamant with her strange doodles and excessive warning that Sara desperately needed to leave and that she didn’t have time to be doing other things.

But maybe this wouldn’t take too long after all; if they were meant to go to a harbor, full of life and near the water, how difficult could it really be to find?

“Well. Let’s get going then, stranger.” Fred declared as he headed back into the shadows beneath the trees, shivering all the while. 

Sara stayed in the sunlight a few moments longer, glancing back over her shoulder at the school house and wondering if she should even bother waiting for Beatrice; Beatrice wasn’t going to understand the internal struggle she had every time Sara thought of home… and even if she did, she wouldn’t have been empathetic toward it and would have forced Sara out of the woods anyway.

It was probably best Sara take this new journey alone.

Or at least _without_ her pushy escort.

She chuckled nervously as she stared into Fred’s bulbous eyes and followed after him, carried by stiff legs that seemed to know better than her brain.

Beatrice emerged from the schoolhouse mere moments after Sara and Fred had taken their leave, Lord knows where. As her eyes scanned the empty lot for any sign of her ward, she felt the heat rising to her face, and subsequent queasiness.

“YOU LITTLE-“ she screamed into the sky, her hands balled into fists. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!”

“HEY! WHAT DID I DO NOW!?” an equally loud voice called from inside of the cracked door of the schoolhouse.

Louise appeared shortly thereafter, a frown plastered to her face. She was certain that Beatrice was on to her scheme to start a food fight (these animals are way too uptight… they need to let loose- like nature intended, she rationalized), but with one look at her sister, on her knees with her face buried in her hands and shivers shaking her back, she knew this wasn’t about herself at all.

Features softening, she made her way down the porch of the structure, but when the steps started squealing, she jumped for it so as not to startle her sulking sister, promptly losing her balance and falling face-first into the grass. By the time she got herself up again, Beatrice had crawled a few feet further ahead, and looked to be examining some sort of tea cartridge. 

She stood up again and took off down a path leading back into the heart of the woods at a break-neck speed that Louise couldn’t have anticipated in her silent awe.

“COME BACK _FAST_ THIS TIME!” was all the little girl could think to say before Beatrice’s thin figure was enshrouded in shadows, at the mercy of the trees once more.

Thankfully, her mom had suggested she wear boots on her trek in the woods so her dress shoes could be spared from splatters of mud. Beatrice ran over logs and twigs so expertly that she could have memorized where each one was.

She certainly had the time to.  

Sara turned around as she heard Beatrice approaching, the squeaking crates of tea putting a halt to her getaway. She had been talking with Fred about his task to go to the harbor and his life as a delivery horse for the company, Endicott and Grey Teas, when words failed her and she saw Beatrice again, emerging from a thick bush plucking thorns out of her arms.

Sara felt sheets of frost caked upon her skin for the second time. But they were sure to thaw by the heat of Beatrice’s boiling blood after they were through with one another.

While the youngest girl racked her brain for a way she could explain herself to someone who she was certain wouldn’t listen, when her own understanding of her actions was still so weak, the eldest rolled up the sleeves of her gown in preparation to settle this one of the only two ways she knew _how_ to settle things; violence.

“ **What** do you think you’re doing!?” Beatrice snapped immediately, not even stopping to catch her breath before she shouted. One hand balled into a fist, and one with rigid, curled-up fingers, she stepped in front of Sara, nearly nose-to-nose, with her feet her a shoulder’s width apart to bar her into a corner. “I came all this way to get you and take you home and you try to sneak away without so much as a _goodbye_?! Do I really deserve this?”

“No, you don’t.” Sara blurted, guilt overwhelming her.

With Beatrice’s weight leaning into her and crushing the crates against her chest, she was forced to drop them. Fred cringed as they landed, but breathed a sigh of relief when no tea came tumbling out and no crack struck through the fibers of the wood.

Sara could feel her own cheeks grow hot as the shame settled in. Rather, she _assumed_ that’s why her cheeks were hot, and that they weren’t simply so because Beatrice was breathing fire onto her face. Fred stood watching the two strangers fall further into a fit of rage, in puzzlement. He’d known Sara just shy of fifteen minutes, but even so, she was probably the nicest person he’d ever met, and he couldn’t dream of why anyone would have the gall to be so hostile toward her.

“Why did you do it?” Beatrice barked between clenched teeth, taking Sara by the shoulders and gripping far more tightly than need be. “Don’t you want to get home to them!? And to… ugh,   _whatever_ you do?” she stared into Sara’s deep brown eyes, searching desperately through them for any sort of answer.

But much like the galaxies that so captured her fancies, they were enigmatic, and if anything left Beatrice with more questions that initially. Beatrice felt her brow twitch. 

“You **don’t** want to stay here!" she insisted, still staring, and still hoping for any hint of an answer to be revealed to her. "You **don’t** _want_ this-“

“I don’t want to go home, Beatrice.” Sara tried in a moment of desperation to tell Beatrice how she was feeling. Her voice came out in a whisper that Beatrice could hardly hear past all of the smoke coming out of her ears.

She had remained calm all the while, because her friend’s anger was beyond justified, and her own actions were some of the cruelest she’d ever taken (that could she remember, anyway). She had ignored the waves of pain making their way up and down her arms as Beatrice gripped her shoulders and shook her just slightly with each word that tumbled out from between her trembling lips. But now was the time to talk, all betrayal and hurt aside.

She _could_ explain it to her. They just had to sit down…

Beatrice had received her answer, though. And she was not pleased with it. She was beyond the point of being able to discuss this issue.

She resented this place so much, and grew to absolutely abhor the idea of being stuck here forever. Sara proclaiming her fondness of it didn't simply touch a nerve; it set it aflame.

“THAT’S **RIDICULOUS**! This place is messing with you, how many times do I have to tell you that?” in that moment, Beatrice’s locks of red hair looked just the same as fire, and her skin was the wood on which it danced. “YOU’RE SUCH AN _IDIOT!_ And I am, too, for thinking I could reason with you! You’re _way_ too emotional and you’re so **desperate** to help people! You need to help _yourself_ by getting the heck out of here!”

_Idiot._

The guilt and shame fell off of Sara like leaves fall off of trees.

She needed a lot of things, but _this_ wasn’t one of them.

“I would be more genuine, but you don’t seem really responsive to that kind of thing.” Sara began in a soft tone, though her voice wavered despite herself. “Let me put this in a way you can understand; you’re _really_ great at communicating.”

She turned back to Fred, smiling to hide the anger bubbling within.

“I am _not_ your problem, Beatrice. You have _so_ many already; you don’t need me on top of them.” she sighed, feeling more calm as she remembered her mission. She could put this behind her. She’d lose it in the trees, to be scattered among the leaves and twigs on the ground along with the rest of her memories. “Let’s find the harbor, Fred.” she whispered to her horse, squeezing past Beatrice to pick up the crates again.

“Sounds good to me. This one’s nuts.” the horse chortled, looking warily at his aid as she turned to face him.

But his eyes widened in shock when she was jerked backward by the straps of her overalls. Startled, Sara lost her footing, and the crates once again went flying as Beatrice dragged her through the dirt.

She wasn’t going to let them go so easily.

“YOU _ARE_ MY PROBLEM!” Beatrice screamed, her voice cracking and surely popping Sara’s and Fred’s ear drums. “ _TRUST ME_ , I WISH YOU WEREN’T! BUT **I’M NOT DOING THIS FOR YOU**!”

Sara stayed frozen as Beatrice stood upright and spun her around, gripping the color of her sweater. She _should_ have been angry. She should have wanted to retaliate, but she was mostly keen on who she was doing this for… haunted by the memory of the drawings on the board.

“Who, then?”

“FOR _WIRT!_ FOR YOUR **STUPID** BOYFRIEND OR WHATEVER HE IS TO YOU! We’ve been over this! How do you not _understand_ by now!?”

“Wirt?” Fred thought aloud, in near perfect unison with Sara, who he was quite shocked could still hear herself think after having Beatrice scream directly into her ears for so long.

“How do you know Wirt?” Sara asked her.

It was only then that it dawned on her that her lesson to Sara had completely gone over her head. Perhaps that was what prompted to her to groan in irritation like she had never felt before and shove Sara as hard as she could into a tree to relieve herself of the pent-up frustration.

“I had to practically carry him around here for ages! Listening to him whine, seeing him treat his brother like trash, and nearly getting them both killed!” she explained breathlessly, watching as Sara’s stoic face finally showed signs of vexation. “And now I have to do the same for you! Except you’re even worse than him! I could deal with him being useless and annoying and a pushover, but you!? You’re all over the place! You’ve got some kind of messiah complex or something! It’s-”

“Beatrice,” Sara interrupted her, rubbing her back briefly to adjust to the soreness of having been run into the jagged tree bark. It was hard for her to contain her anger when it came to those she loved, and every insult that Beatrice said about Wirt felt like a fresh carving on her skin, as if she wasn’t cut deeply enough already by being called an idiot. “…you don’t want to fight me.”

“Beatrice!” Fred gasped quietly, his jaw dropping. “Oh, I remember you, now!” 

His eyes shifted frantically back and forth between the bird and the bee, clad in their respective colors of blue and yellow, and felt as though he were a spectator at a boxing match, eagerly awaiting to see the round end in a knock-out.

“Oh, _yes_ I do.” the notorious penny-thief tested, digging her nail into Sara’s chest. Sara tried to  look away to keep herself from getting tunnel vision for Beatrice’s nose, because she really wanted to break it. “I want to fight you. And when I win, you’re going have to shut up and stop trying to run off and let me take you home to your spineless, bratty boyfriend, so I can get on with my life!” she frowned, because she thought about the irony of it all as soon as the words had rolled off of her tongue.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to fight you.” Sara breathed, her chest feeling tight. She tried not to look at Beatrice, and tucked her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to take her up on her offer to beat her down. But it wasn’t fair; she had no idea that Sara was the last person she wanted to be picking a fight with. “And stop talking about him like that. Why are you trying so hard to help me- and why did you help him- if you seem to hate him so much?”

“Why? Are you afraid you’re going to lose?” Beatrice chuckled tauntingly in a way that made her look like a grown-up Louise, shoving Sara against the tree again.

She didn’t really feel that way about Wirt anymore, but held the memory of her hatred for him in her heart still, because the times those feelings still held true were some of the few that they had had the chance to share together on the their voyage to Adelaide’s pastor all those moons ago. And Sara was visibly peeved every time Beatrice said something about him, so she used it to egg her on.

“Does it make you mad when I say things like that?  It’s all true. He’s a brat.” Beatrice barked, ensuring that she was over-enunciating every jab at Wirt’s character. “He’s a pushover.”

“I said **stop**.” Sara demanded for the final time. She had to raise her voice to get past the heart that was caught in her throat. The anger that Beatrice had forcibly bestowed upon her was foreign- nearly dizzying as the blood rushed to her head and put pressure in her temples. “You have one more chance, Beatrice. You _really_ don’t want me to fight you.” 

But Beatrice would be damned before she backed down from a fight, even one she was destined to lose.

“ _Come on!_ **Fight me**! Defend your stupid, bratty, pushover! Lord knows he could never fight me himself! Heck, that’s probably why he likes you so much! You pick all of his battles for him while he just sits around and cries and writes bad poe-“

Sara couldn’t see much aside from Beatrice’s face; it was as though the rest of her vision was clouded and vague, like she was locking on a target. Or perhaps it was like she was in a dream.

Whatever the case, she moved her hand, even though she didn’t want to. She closed her eyes and turned her head as her knuckles made contact with the soft skin of her friend-turned-foe’s eyelid, and then, as they dug deeper, crush against the brow bone.

Sara regretted hitting her as soon as she felt it.

Fred neighed and stomped his hooves on the ground to cheer Sara on, entirely too caught up in the excitement of the moment and hoping she’d throw another punch. Beatrice fell to the ground, having instantly reached up to cup her hands around her puffy and pulsing eyelid, tears leaking out of it because she couldn’t shut it tightly enough to keep them contained.

The force behind Sara’s punch was so strong that Beatrice could have sworn she was actually being hit with a club, with jagged spikes sticking out of it on the ends.

If she hadn’t had the wind knocked out of her by the pain of the punch, she would have eventually planned on admitting her mistake. She would have apologized for crossing lines, even commended Sara on being able to take her down in a single swing. She hadn’t expected it in the slightest, and had only planned on roughing her up a bit because she was certain that’s all it would have taken.

After all, she was _Wirt’s_ girl. She even _spoke_ like him sometimes. She had yelled at her earlier, but then _cried_ afterward. 

But Beatrice realized that she was sadly mistaken in assuming she’d be like Wirt in all respects.

She had to come to terms with the fact that her plan was an absolute train wreck.

Once she got over the initial shock, the anger settled back just beneath the surface of her skin, where it seemed to feel most at-home. She’d had to go along with Sara and Fred on this silly little side quest before she could take her home. And she’d have to do her very own walk of shame, showing everyone they met along the way her shiner. 

Beatrice finally willed herself to pull her hands away from her swollen eye, which was already looking grey thanks to the fairness of her skin. She found Sara at her side, looking even more unsettled by the whole fiasco than she was. At least she was right about that.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice, I’m-“ she began, tucking the very same hand she’d hit her with behind her head to lift her up from the dirt, all the while using the other to pluck pieces of it out of her curls.

“I _wanted_ you to fight me! You beat me fair and square.” Beatrice cut her off before she could start rambling on about how sorry she was. “ _You_ yelled at _me_ , and _you_ punched _me_ , and you won’t even give me the chance to get mad at you for it!”

Though she felt weak after their brief squabble, she was ever-stubborn. Beatrice pushed Sara away and managed to gather herself to her feet- but not before reaching for a crate or two of tea. Without another word, she looked down at her shoes so that her hair would fall over her wounded eye and started off down a cleared path that she knew for a fact would lead to the harbor that Sara had mentioned earlier.

“Come on.” she called over her shoulder when she heard no footsteps following after her. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”

“Yup, that’s Beatrice, alright.” Fred commented, still sounding quite giddy about the match he’d just witnessed, and the fact that the girl he was rooting for was clearly the champion. “No doubt about it, now. Let’s get going, Sara.”

“Wow.” was all Sara could say as she beat her fist against her hand to pop her knuckles, because in her haste, she had forgotten where to properly place her thumb, and her entire hand was sore thanks to that.

But she wasted no time in following after Fred and Beatrice, who didn’t allow her a moment of peace on their tedious walk to the harbor.

“I hardly recognized you! But now your eye is the same color as your feathers used to be.” Fred razzed, earning himself an especially nasty glare from his old partner in crime.

“So, you were there when Beatrice was … helping Wirt?” Sara inquired. She had hundreds of questions about when exactly they had known each other, and how, but she forgot them all as soon as Fred’s teases settled in. “What’s this about feathers?”

She was walking on the opposite side of the horse so as not to irritate Beatrice further. But just _talking_ about Wirt seemed to be doing the trick, nullifying her efforts. Sara supposed she would be quick to anger, too, if she had just had the mess knocked out of her.

But keeping her distance was also for her own sake, because even with her naturally forgiving nature, she was still incredibly bitter over Beatrice talking about Wirt the way she had. She wondered if she would ever forgive her for it…

“Oh, yeah. _Helping_ him.” Fred giggled furiously, but paused momentarily so he could very conspicuously offer Beatrice a discreet wink. “She wasn’t doing so hot when I came along. Looks like she hasn’t changed much there, all things considered. So you’re lucky you’ve got me!” Fred laughed louder, throwing his head back.

Beatrice’s ears and nose turned beet red.

Sara was curious to hear more of the story, but even more captivated by the way the forest seemed to dissipate with each step they took. Eventually, they appeared to be _out_ of the woods. Miles of dock stretched on ahead, and soil turned into grey sand and black rocks, constantly being embraced by the clingy waves of the ocean.

“ **OH YEAH**!? Cause _you’re_ so helpful?” Beatrice snapped back at the horse. She seemed to have met her match in terms of snarkiness, and was noticeably flustered by this revelation. “ _That’s_ why you can’t even do your job right!”

Sara couldn’t bring herself to listen anymore. She traded in their biting words for the sound of bells chiming, and gladly inhaled the scent of the salty sea. She smiled as she saw people going about their daily business on the docks- real, _normal_ human beings, just like her and Beatrice and Louise. They wore dull-colored dresses, carried babies in sailor suits on their hips and stacks of books in the others as they chatted about how lovely the weather was that day and the status of the gardens.

It was a sight for sore eyes. **Literally** (in the case of Beatrice).

“I do my job just fine, thank you very much. This is the first delivery I’ve gotten lost on, _honest._ ”

“Oh, _HERE_ WE GO-“

“You guys! Knock it off! We’re here.” Sara demanded in the harshest tone she could muster, but she was happy to be in the fresh air and sunshine and couldn’t hide the skip in her step as she adjusted to walking in the sand and gravel. “You don’t want your clients to see you arguing, do you, Fred?”

“Eh, I don’t think they’ll mind. These guys are pretty contentious themselves.” Fred shrugged his shoulders, stepping up onto the damp wood of the docks and looking around for his customers. “Always complaining about some guy… Georg? And about… ticks. I think. I deliver to them all the time.” he murmured absently, causing both girls standing behind him to go wide-eyed.

“Wait, **what**!? You said you didn’t know where the Harbor is!” it was Sara’s turn to berate Fred. “Did you lie to us?”

“What!? I don’t! It’s not like I have a photographic memory or anything. I _never_ lie!”

“Whatever!” Beatrice would have thrown her arms up if she wasn’t carrying crates for a more dramatic end to Sara’s and Fred’s altercation, but she had to settle for a slightly-less-so roll of her eyes- erm, _eye_. “Let’s just give them the tea and get out of here! Just, try to see if you can find them. There’s so many people here…”

“They’re right there.” Fred said immediately, pointing to where a crowd of men were standing at the edge of the dock, in front of a cargo ship.

“Oh.”

The trio made their way to their final destination, getting more and more uncomfortable the nearer they got. Some of the men were dressed quite nicely; wearing pressed, white suits, black boots, and blue trimmings all around with just the faintest hint of red, and old-timey sailing hats to top off their ridiculously curly white wigs. But others were more scantily clad, in a very poor take on traditional Native American garb that mostly consisted of feathers (probably laden with disease) and blue ink smudged on their pasty white skin.

Needless to say, it truly left nothing to the imagination. Every wrinkle and crevice was out in the open, to bellow in the breeze like the sail of a ship.

“Oh, good! The tea has arrived at last!” the nearly naked man exclaimed, turning his feathery head to face Sara.

He offered her a toothy (or rather, _toothless_ ) grin that was as bright yellow as the morning sun and coaxed her toward him.

She smiled sheepishly and handed him the first of the crates, which he set in his lap (thankfully; something to cover him up a bit) and dug into immediately.

“Oh, I just _love_ the smell of fresh tea.” he mused, pulling a bag out of a cartridge by its string and lifting it to his nose. He paused briefly, staring distantly as the scent wafted into his nostrils and squinting his eyes in deliberation. “Oh. Except this tea. This is no good at all.” he shook his head, pulling it away from his face with his nose crinkled in disgust. “ _This_ is the tea we should be dumping in the harbor… I wonder if there’s still time to switch them…”

He turned to face his pack of costume-clad gents, who were struggling to open the crates of the _good_ tea that they’d been sent from enemy territory just a day or two ago.

“I am an American, but I’m not an idiot; I won’t waste this perfectly good tea if I don’t have to.” he whispered to Sara, winking at her just as subtly as Fred did to Beatrice back in the woods. “You three will help me switch them, won’t you?”

“Well, actually, we’ve really got some important business to attend to, so-“ Beatrice started, fumbling through her thoughts for a lie to get them out of the task.

At the last minute, she pointed to her black eye and smiled brightly, which in the end was not entirely convincing for anyone.

“ _Of course_ we’ll do it! It’s the Endicott-Grey way!” Fred cheered, nudging Beatrice toward the friendly man in his birthday suit with his snout.

The red-headed girl grinned contemptuously at Sara, for want of avoiding the eye contact with the man.

“Let’s get this over with.” she mumbled, pretending to be chipper as she grabbed hold of the first of at least a hundred cartridges she’d be transporting over the next half-hour.

“Excellent! I’ll lead the gentleman away while you get to work.” the pudgy lad declared in a sing-song voice, clapping his hands together.

He shot up from his seat, prompting Sara, Fred, and Beatrice to all cover their eyes and bite their tongues to keep from gagging. He was out of sight within a few moments, having gotten the crowd electrified about giving a bunch of lily-livered loyalists a roundhouse kick or two and then going to a pub afterward to celebrate before the tea party that was to take place that evening.

As the girls went back and forth across the slippery docks, trading out teas, they couldn’t help but feel strained. Not even the calm, crystal-clear waters just beneath their feet, nor the loving kisses the ocean waves blew through their way could make them feel more at ease.

Finally, Fred, who was helping the girls by picking up the tea holders with his teeth, dared to break the silence.

“So, Beatrice. Did those kids like it at Adelaide’s?”

The former blue bird nearly tripped over the skirt of her dress when she processed the question.

All of the painful memories that resurfaced stopped her in her tracks. The golden scissors that freed her from a life trapped in the sky, the crazy woman that almost ruined her life, and the lost boys that made it all the better, that she was cursed to never be able to see again… 

… to think, she had almost been responsible for their heads being filled with wool and for dooming them to a life as child servants for a wicked witch that she had told them was good.

Her stomach churned in disgust.

“You mean… Wirt and Greg?” Sara asked, shutting the final crate with a relieved sigh. She slowly fell to her knees and laid over it, thoroughly exhausted after all she’d been through so far that day. She spoke to Fred exclusively, still too upset with Beatrice to look at her.“Who’s Adelaide?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay!? They weren’t there for long.” Beatrice yelled, turning her head away from both Sara and Fred. “And knock it off already! Fred wasn’t even there the whole time, so if you want to know the truth, ask me!”

She busied herself by staring at the tiny boat that rocked gently from side to side in front of the setting sun. She had always loved ships, and being near the ocean. It was her dream to travel the seas, ever since she was just a little kid, even younger than Greg had been when she’d last seen him. It made it all the more devastating to her when she became a bird, of all things. Almost like fate was slapping her in the face, and setting fire to her dream of being a ship navigator all the while.

As if it hadn’t already done so by making her born a girl.

The _eldest_ girl, no less (which _really_ meant Mom number two).

But what did it mean now, that she was stuck in the woods? She was _something_ of a guide- that much remained of her fancies. She was still forced to help wounded or lost travelers as they came through, as is evidenced by Sara and the man that her sisters gave E. Coli to as a part of his continental breakfast at the Mill.

But that’s all she would ever be, isn’t it?

Everything seems to stay the same when you’re in the woods…

She sighed with a heavy heart, bidding a silent farewell to the harbor.

With luck, maybe she would be back one day.

And maybe that day, it would mean something.

“Let’s go, Sara.”

“What?  You can’t leave now. I bet Mister Endicott and Miss Grey would want you to come back to the mansion for a thank-you dinner, or something.” Fred whined, hobbling over to Beatrice and biting her skirt to keep her put. “And besides, I bet Sara still isn’t ready to go yet. You don’t want to get your other eye blackened, do you?”

“I would like to meet them…” Sara said happily. She hesitated before joining Beatrice at her side, offering a grin as a silent truce. But just as she wasn’t ready to take her leave back into reality, Beatrice wasn't ready to give up her grudge. The lankier of the duo shuffled behind Fred to isolate herself from Sara.

“I’m not going to hit you again.” Sara chuckled nervously, feeling saddened, but not shocked that Beatrice turned her nose up at her. But she paused in the midst of that laughter and added in a grave tone of voice, “But don’t make fun of Wirt or you might make a liar out of me.”

Fred howled with laughter, stomping his feet on the docks.

Sara was confused.

Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“You know what. Fine. Let’s just do whatever you want, and then when you’re ready to go back home and you find out you can’t, you’re going to have to stay here with _me_ forever and you’ll _never_ see Wirt and Greg again, _or_ any of your family.” Beatrice spiraled into a tangent, pacing back and forth behind the horse before she absently wandered back to his side.

Fred had already given Sara permission to ride him to the mansion, because now that he was at the harbor, he thought he could find his way back to the manor alright. Sara tapped on Beatrice’s head until she stopped talking and looked up at her with a somber pout on her lips. She held her hands out to her and leaned forward, pulling her up onto the saddle with ease that shocked both Beatrice and Fred.

“What _are_ you?” Beatrice asked, wrapping her arms around Sara’s waist as Fred began to gallop down the long stair case of the docks.

“I don’t know. I don’t really like labels.” Sara shrugged, struggling to put her feet in the reins; her legs were too short.

Beatrice deadpanned.

…

The ride to the mansion was spent with Sara having to hear banter between Beatrice and Fred, but not before listening to a long-winded story about how Fred used to be an honest guy, adored by his townsfolk, until one day a mysterious man came and made him a lousy criminal.

“You believe me, don’t you?” he pleaded to Sara at the end of it.

He didn’t need to turn around for her to visualize the puppy-dog eyes he was probably flashing at her, nor did she need to turn around to see Beatrice roll her eyes.

“Well, I have no reason not to.” Sara shrugged in response.

Her friends went through the aforementioned motions as they came up to the golden gates guarding the mansion. The courtyard under the moonlight looked like something Sara had once seen in a dream; cobble stones, a fountain, trimmed hedges, and statues of strange-looking animals and knights to guard the gargantuan, conjoined home that it all led up to.

Fred kicked the gate open with a single tap of his hoof and swaggered slowly through the yard, where he in turn kicked the double French doors that led into the lobby in the same manner.

After clambering off of Fred, Sara and Beatrice made their way inside without speaking to one another. The darkness of the night seemed to be brighter than it was in the dimness of the endless corridors.

Sara took a sharp left, while Beatrice took a right, in search of that parlor that sits in her memories, filled to the brim with intricate paintings and grandiose sculptures that must have been worth more than her entire Mill. Now that she was a human, she wondered if she could more easily get away with snatching a few things. She _wouldn’t_ , of course… but she would certainly consider it. She clicked the heels of her dirty brown boots on the pristine porcelain tiles, unknowingly leaving a mess in her wake.

At the left, Sara’s own footsteps came with less mud and sound alike. Her sneakers squeaked very faintly on the tiles until she stepped on maroon carpets that mirrored the paint on the ceiling in front of a stair case. She never considered herself to be afraid of the dark, but it looked menacing to her in that moment, coupled with not knowing what may lie in waiting on the second floor past all of the shadows.

It was an exciting thought, at least. Maybe she would have been braver if a friend was there with her. She smiled as she thought of Gregory, and how he would have happily toddled up the steps in search of an adventure and enthusiastically encouraged to follow along.

She missed him, and decided that she’d go up there in his memory.

But she didn’t walk too far before she quite literally ran into the gentleman of the manor, carrying a candlestick on his journey through the his exceedingly large home, giggling like a little boy all the while.

“Haha! I’ve found you, my beautiful-“ he gasped in delight.

But the smile fell from his face when he held the candle up to the face of a sixteen-year-old girl that he had never seen before in his life instead of his beloved wife.

Fred moseyed up to the foot of the stairs and squinted until he caught site of his boss and friend.

“Mister Endicott, this is my friend Sara. She and her partner Beatrice helped me with a delivery today and I was wondering if she could stay for dinner.”

“Oh! That’s wonderful! Of course.” Quincy cheered, holding a hand out for Sara to shake.

She smiled and obliged, but quickly became perplexed as her host forced the candlestick into her  hand and began to skip away from them.

“I’m off to find Miss Grey! And then, we shall prepare a feast for this gracious child!”

“They’re playing hide-and-seek.” Fred explained to Sara as she walked down the steps to him.

“Oh… that’s really cute.” she laughed. “He seems really nice.” 

Meanwhile, Beatrice had made her way into the former Grey-only territory. She groaned, knowing that she was on the opposite side of the house of where she wanted to be, and that the only way she knew how to get back was through the small hatch in the fire place that she wasn’t scrawny enough to fit through like Wirt was. She stood in the empty room, taking a moment to admire the intricately painted flowers on the walls. Her thoughts were interrupted by a shriek of terror.

“Q-QUINCY!?” came the accented cry.

Beatrice turned to see the lady of the house, trembling in fear as her older eyes fought to make out the features of the intruder’s face in the darkness. Her lover skipped up behind her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I’m here, my darling! We have guests!” he cooed softy into her ears, his hands trailing up from her waist to her shoulders. 

He massaged them gently as she relaxed beneath his touch and murmured incomprehensible apologies to Beatrice for getting spooked by her.

“Also… I win.” The Englishman squealed, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet.

Margueritte laughed and waved her hands dismissively.

“Yes, for the first time. Congratulations.”

“Yes! You, fifty three, and me, one!” 

Beatrice couldn’t help but smirk as she watched the old, love-struck kooks hug one another and exchange very chaste pecks on the cheeks. She half-wished that they would remember her, but knew that the changes she had undergone since their last meeting would have made their reunion downright unbelievable.

“Let’s get these children fed for their hard work today!” Quincy declared, taking hold of his wife’s hand, and then Beatrice’s. 

He whisked them away into the dining room, where Fred and Sara awaited them.

The girls weren’t too happy about having to sit next to each other at the dining table, with Quincy at one head, and Margueritte on the other.

The French woman quickly took a liking to Sara, while Endicott swore he had met Beatrice somewhere before, most likely having recognized her voice.

She’d never admit it, but it made her feel happy.

By the time they had finished eating a lavish meal of roast, potatoes croquettes, and quail eggs, Sara’s hair was tied back into French braids with yellow ribbons, and Beatrice had been given the privilege of wearing Endicott’s top hat.

That was when Beatrice reminded Endicott of his long-lost kin.

“Do you remember Wirt and Greg?”

“What? Of course! How could I forget about my adorable nephews?” the jolly old gentleman said, kicking his feet up onto the table to lay back and reminisce on the time they had spent together. He had especially loved Gregory, who helped him face his fears and meet the love of his life, who he was blessed to spend eternity with. “Do you happen to know of their whereabouts?”

“Of course. They’re good friends of ours.” Beatrice smiled, covering her uninjured eye as Endicott’s boots cracked the china and splattered potatoes across the tablecloth. “In fact, my friend Sara here is Wirt’s _suitor_ , so she’s practically family.”

“Margueritte! Do my ears deceive me?” Quincy gasped, cupping his hands over his mouth in unison with his wife and business partner.

“Ah! Yes! There will be a marriage soon!”

She closed her eyes, wiping a single tear from one of them before pulling Sara out of her seat into a hug. Sara hugged back, naturally, despite how utterly lost she was in the midst of all of this. She didn’t recall becoming engaged. She also didn’t recall Wirt ever telling her about having a filthy rich Aunt and Uncle who owned a tea company in the middle of the woods. But there must have been a lot that Wirt never told her about, if he was acquainted with Beatrice and her gigantic family, and with a talking horse…

“This is such wonderful news! When is the wedding?” Margueritte asked Sara as she pulled her out at an arm’s length.

“Oh, uh. Probably in about ten years or so.” the teen stated with a shrug.

Beatrice decided now was the perfect time to put her second plan into action- the one she had every intention of making successful, no matter the cost. She stood from her seat at the table, unfolding her napkin from her lap and putting it over her empty dinner plate, pushing her chair in shortly afterward.

“Well, I guess it’s time we take our leave, before it gets too terribly dark outside…” she began, stretching out her back and shifting her cerulean gaze between her two hosts. “You know how dangerous the woods can be at night.”

“You’ll be doing no such thing!” Margueritte protested, standing from her seat and tugging Sara up along with her.

Her arm was still tightly around the girl’s shoulders. She hugged her closer, making Sara laugh because she really had no way of escaping this hug from her apparent Aunt-in-Law, if ever there was such a thing. The frilly fabric of the woman’s blue dress felt nice to the touch though, and she smelled like easter lilies, reminding Sara of her mother.

“You simply must stay the night.” Quincy insisted, standing beside Beatrice and giving her a hearty pat on the back.

It made her jump a bit, causing her hair to fall away from her black eye, and make Quincy’s breath hitch in his throat out of horror.

“What happened to you, my dear?” he asked in a hush tone, taking hold of Beatrice’s cheek and tilting her head back to examine the wound.

Beatrice’s cheeks flushed to the same shade of her new top hat.

“It’s nothing! An accident, is all-“  

She didn’t get the chance to explain herself before she and Sara were led to Margueritte’s side of the house, into her large bedroom, where the doors to the balcony were propped open just slightly to allow in the cool breeze of the night. They were given long white gowns to change into, which were too long for Sara, and just a tad too short for Beatrice, trimmed with lace and adorning pale blue ribbons and heart-shaped buttons made from gold.

Quincy tended to Beatrice’s eye, cleaning it thoroughly and eventually giving her a plain brown patch to put over it, so she wouldn’t irritate it further as she tossed and turned in her sleep.

They were far too old for it, but the couple insisted on tucking them into bed. Sara couldn’t stop smiling the whole time, and after a while, she wondered if it was out of discomfort, adoration for the quirkiness of them both, or a mixture of the two things. Beatrice made it clear that she was uncomfortable, but Quincy and Margueritte naturally did not detect this, too excited at the prospect of caring for the girls for the time being.

It would be sort of like having children, since they couldn’t very well make their own.

“Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely if you two stayed here for a bit? You could become a part of the company. Our official delivery girls, along with Fred, of course.” Quincy mused, staring up at the canopy of the four-poster as he daydreamed. “We could be Endicott and Daughters. Endicott and Nieces doesn’t have quite the same ring...” 

“Yes! And tomorrow morning, we could show you how to make the tea, and send you off on another delivery.” Miss Grey added, reaching for Quincy’s hand and very clearly visualizing their company’s _third_ redesign along with him.

“That sounds like fun.” Sara grinned, looking toward Beatrice, who remained silent, with her arms crossed childishly.

They were bade farewell for the night and left to lay in the silence of the room, engulfed in dull mauve sheets. Beatrice scooted herself as far to the left as possible, her head hanging off of the pillow and her mop of brushed-out, wavy hair trailing to the floor. Sara lay stiff and silent, mulling over the day’s events. It was somewhat strange on account of her confrontation with Beatrice, but once they got to the mansion, it had been just what she needed to quell her sadness…

“Are Wirt and Greg really their nephews?” she cleared her throat, turning onto her side and curling up as she gazed at her friend and awaited an answer. 

“No. It’s a long story.”

“I have time. Tell it to me.” Sara smiled, wriggling herself closer to Beatrice, who would have crawled further away from her, but she had no more bed left and didn’t want to sleep on the floor.

“UGH. No. You _don’t_ have time.” Beatrice groaned, slapping a hand over her non-patched eye.

“Yeah I do. Tell me!”

Beatrice paused for a moment, pondering how she could turn the situation in her favor. Sara reached for Beatrice’s hand, tugging it downward so she could coil around her arm and pull her to the middle of the bed.

“Only if you tell me why you don’t want to go home.” Beatrice bargained.

She tried to yank her arm away from Sara, but to no avail. The girl had a death grip.

Sara stayed quiet.

Beatrice was losing patience, and growing more exhausted by the second. As they sat still, their bodies sank more deeply into the soft mattress, and they relished in each other’s warmth.

“I don’t remember. I keep trying to remember, but I just don’t.” Sara finally admitted, her eyelids drooping. She pressed her cheek into Beatrice’s shoulder. “I don’t like my house, but I’m never there, so that can’t be the reason. And I really, really, really miss Wirt and Greg. And…”

She paused, nuzzling Beatrice’s shoulder as she felt a wave of despair wash over her. The older girl was stiff as a board and trying not to pay mind to the fact that she was cuddling with someone who nearly _blinded_ her earlier that day, but like she’d pointed out shortly after, it was hard to stay mad at her, and quite she literally brought it upon herself.

“And who?” she tried, resisting the urge to push her away. “Who else do you miss?” 

“My… mom. I _really_ miss my mom.” Sara finished, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Just go home to them, then. They probably miss you, too. Wirt is probably tearing his hair out wondering where you are, and if your mom is anything like mine, she’s probably so freaked out that she’s making people eat dirt.”

“ _Dirt?_ What?”

“I said it’s a long story, Sara. But don’t change the subject.” 

“Okay… something tells me she doesn’t miss me.” Sara murmured, keeping her eyes closed. She could feel herself falling asleep, to the point of no return.

“Now that’s just crazy talk. How _couldn’t_ she? She’s your mom.” Beatrice was moments away from losing consciousness, too. Her speech slurred, and she finally relaxed her muscles.

“She _can’t_.” Sara sighed, her heart feeling heavy. She let go of Beatrice’s arms and wrapped herself around her torso like a sloth. Beatrice was too drowsy to have her wits about her, and found herself reciprocating. “I’m sorry for punching you, Beatrice. I’m sorry I tried to leave.”

“It’s fine. Whatever.” Beatrice whispered, her voice hoarse.

Sara was glad Beatrice understood.

They just had to sit down and talk about it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the special guest appearance of Saitama, One-Punch Man, especially mynt_ii and- I'm just kidding, but I am very sorry for how late this chapter is. It was the most difficult by far. It's also the half-way point, so it caused me a bit of a slump, because I knew it had to be perfect to make the rest of the story work out the way I want it to and I am an excellent procrastinator. 
> 
> I don't think that the fight scene was out of character, though I'm sure some would beg to differ. The girls were just both frustrated with one another and they are both under a tremendous amount of emotional stress right now. I'm so sorry for the puns. It's a curse.
> 
> I will probably post the next chapter during spring break, which for me starts March 11th (as well as updates for Poetic Bee and Kitty and Candy Pants!). As something of a teaser, the next chapter is called "The Old Inn Door"


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